HP and the Mastery of Beasts: BK 1 DragonBorn
by Stiltskin the Story Teller
Summary: What if Harry didn't find out about what the first task was? What if Harry wasn't exactly a wizard? What if Luck sent someone to watch? This is my first work, so please be kind. Rated M for slight depression up front, lots of violence upcoming, probable fluff. I am thinking HP/NT/FD/BB, but we'll see. Please tell me what you think!
1. Introduction: The Prophecy

A.N.: Hey guys, here is the prologue, and as it might seem to indicate, I now know where this story is going. If this doesn't make any sense to you, it is because I wrote the first chapter before the prologue, so just read the author's note there and you should get what is going on.

As you can tell, Dumbledore is evil. Sorry to all you fans of him out there, but that is just necessary for the plot. If you are wondering why he is evil, it is because he always blamed muggles for what happened to Ariana, and got really bitter.

Also, I moved the story forward in time almost thirty years to make it easier for me to write. Sorry, but trying to keep up with social standard, technology pursuits, global politics, and habits and fashion from before I was born to write a fiction story is a little too much for me. Not sure how much it will change the story, but there it is.

While we are at it, I changed my OC for Harry into Bellatrix Black. I'll explain that later

Other than that, I got nothing to say, so on with the story!

*_Strongest magic metal of the Goblins_

-ooOOoo-

_August Twelfth, 1951  
__Deal du Diable  
__Southern France_

Albus Dumbledore was almost drunk, again. He had been 'almost' drunk for the last couple of weeks, ever since school had let out. Of course, it wouldn't do to have the 'Savior of the Wizarding World' and the most respected teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the (allegedly) best school of magic in the world, drunk in public, but his glamour wouldn't wear off anytime soon, so no-one knew it was him. He could stay just a little longer.

As he drank, he tried to figure out _exactly_ where Grindelwald, is old friend, his _only_ friend, had gone wrong. Dumbledore _knew_ he had been wrong, but the longer he thought about it, the more he wondered. Albus knew magicals were better than Muggles. Those filthy beasts had ended up taking Arianna, his father, his brother, and now his only friend from him, and he knew they were all the same nasty, scheming monsters no better (in fact, far worse) than a goblin on the inside. He knew that the wizarding world was stagnating, dying out, even. He knew that the world of magic, and thus, the magic of the world, was fading. Most of all, he knew that Gellert _hadn't_ been a "dark lord", and had _only_ wanted what was best for magic as a whole, and wizards and witches in particular. All this, Dumbledore knew to be true, and he couldn't figure out why Gellert had been evil. He hated that.

Actually, that was only the first of several things he realized he hated. He hated the conundrum he was facing. He disliked idiot students expecting magic to solve all their problems. He despised the magic world for expecting _him_ to solve all of their problems. He loathed politicians and their scheming. He detested solicitors, juries, and litigation cases. He found alcohol, being drunk, and hangovers abhorrent. He was bitter at the Elder Wand for betraying Gellert and choosing him. And above all, he realized he really, _really_ hated prophecies.

_October Thirty-first, 1960  
__Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
__Transfiguration Teachers Office_

There was a feast in the great hall tonight. It was nothing special, just a typical Samhain celebration, but everyone was in a good mood. The first two months of school had passed without much incident. Tom was somewhere out there, making a name for himself, but he hadn't killed anyone recently to the best of Dumbledore's knowledge, so there was nothing pressing there. All in all, Dumbledore realized he could relax if he wanted to. He hated being able to relax. Relaxing meant thinking.

He was gradually beginning to wonder if he had done the right thing at the end of the last war. Yes, he was sure he did the right thing by not killing Grindelwald, but he was beginning to wonder if stopping him had been the right thing to do either. As long as there had been Gellert Grindelwald and his fanatics, things got done. On his side, they got done, or he would kill you. On the other side, they got done, or he would kill you. Really, death threats made people very effective, and nothing said 'DEATH THREAT' like a maniac burning down your house with your family inside.

Still, these times of peace was preferable to the times of mayhem and killing. This much he was sure of, even if he was beginning to doubt the rest. After all, the dead did no one any good. Even Grindelwald served a purpose by being alive, even if it was only as Dumbledore's confessor. Honestly, as crazy as he was going in prison, Grindelwald still had a frighteningly good idea every now and again. Like his latest idea, concerning periodic dark lords to shake up society and get things moving. Maybe, with a little effort, Albus could turn Tom Marvolo Riddle into his own puppet dark lord. Of course, he would need a new name (Marvolo. What kind of name is 'Marvolo'?) but with the proper guidance, Albus might be able to use him to get some new bills past, or even to bolster his own fame. It had been years since he had done anything noteworthy, and the last thing he wanted to do was fade into obscurity, teaching snot-nosed brats and muggle-bred horrors the basics of magic. There had to be more to his life than that!

Albus reached into his sleeve and drew the Elder Wand from his robe. He still didn't like it, never mind trust it, but having a spare, secret wand had some great uses. Having a super-powerful spare, secret wand was all the better, and he had some work to do if he wanted to make whiny Tom Riddle worthy of being his soon-to-be-defeated 'worthy' opponent. With this thought, and a mountain of new plans to make, he went humming on his way to the feast.

The Heir of Merlin was ready to prove his worth again.

_October Thirtieth, 1999  
__Potter Mansion  
__Lydiard Park, Wiltshire_

Albus walked away from the fantastic three-story manor house, quite pleased with himself for several reasons. First, there was the fact that he could honestly say he was finally ending the Potter line. As of tomorrow, the Leaders of the Grey would finally die, making him able to grab their votes (and followers) to strengthen the Light. He never doubted for an instant that he would be able to get the majority of the Grey faction firmly in the light, as Voldemort, the Dark Lord, was going to kill the leader of the Grey. That action alone would assure the support of the Bones', the Greengrass's, the Davis's, and several other. Maybe not all the Grey would side with the light, but he could be assured a majority of them, and thus, a majority of the votes. As a nice bonus, one of the primary Light families that was giving him trouble and resisting his control, the Longbottom's, would most likely be next, making it all the easier to pass several new laws Dumbledore had his eye on. Best of all, he would be able to finally eliminate the threat that was Sirius Black. He had originally planned on letting Pettigrew (the nasty mudblood!) take the fall, but he could always prove that Tom himself was descended from the Muggle beasts, and that should be enough to break ties with the mundane world, but Sirius Black! Honestly, how did a nice evil family like the Blacks have a decent, Light-minded son! Such a thing wouldn't do at all. People might start to think that the Dark families could be saved before the war was over, and try to mend fences and broker peace! As much as that was, in fact, Dumbledore's own endgame, it wouldn't do to have someone else come up with that idea to soon, so Sirius Black had to go!

Another thing he was happy about was his pocket full of artifacts. Actually, that one kind of annoyed him every time he thought about it. He had been eager to see what 'wand magic' or runic magic or even enchanter's magic items the Potters had, and was going to relieve them of all 'non-conformist magic' items on principle, but the second outnumbered the first almost three to one! Why James Potter, transfiguration expert, found it necessary to practice beast-tamer magic was beyond him. And Lilly! She held masteries in Potions, Charms, Runes, Divination and Arithmancy, was a skilled ward-mistress, as well as having the (dubious) honor of being the foremost expert in Ancient Rituals alive (he was never sure how he felt about ancient rituals. On the one hand, they were the predecessor of modern 'wand' magic, on the other, they could be used in any other type of magic, and they tended to be unpredictable and WAY to powerful) but she somehow felt it necessary to study Soul magic, dabble in necromancy, summoning, and animating, and even was studying blood magic, of all things. Honestly, how much magic did one person need? Still, he had a fine haul of useful artifacts, and had gathered so much stuff, his massively expanded, feather-light pocket was bulging at the seams, and quite heavy, so, all in all, it was something to smile about, even if destroying the corrupt magical items would take him a month. Why did people have to keep trying to create new forms of magic? They were barely holding on to the old kinds!

In majority, though, Dumbledore was happy. It had taken a great deal of work to get this war all set up just the way he wanted it, but then Sybill Trelawney, a pretender seer from a long line of pretender seers, had gone and made an actual prophecy! He had planned on hiring her for the express purpose of stamping out the practice of seercraft and divination, just as he had hired Severus Snape to limit the number of potioneers, but then she had to go and provide an actual prophecy! He had intended on her making a fake one, but she had actually done it! The nerve of the woman. There was even a registered copy in the Department of Mysteries! Dumbledore still didn't know how they even did that, but he knew it had to go. How was he supposed to limit knowledge and control the wizarding world if seers, who could see both the past and the future, were, well, able to see both the past and the future. He was sure that sounded better in his head than it ever would coming out of his mouth.

Just before he reached the gate, Dumbledore froze. On the other side of the two-hundred-year-old ensorcelled _fortissimum magica metallum de cobali_* gate, or formagli gate for short, stood a sight he had hoped to never see. A powerful black dog, made of shadows, stood outside the gate staring in. Its glowing red eyes were the color of blood, and it smelled like decay. The ground under its feet was bare, the grass having withered away, and small insects could be seen fleeing from it as if their lives depended on it. No doubt about it, Dumbledore was seeing a grim.

His first thought was to panic. Such creatures were portents of doom, and seeing one was often associated with a sudden and violent death. However, after a tense moment, he suddenly relaxed and chuckled. He walked over to the gate, opened it, stepped out of the way, and made a grand welcoming gesture. The grim walked past him, nodded its thanks, and continued up the drive to the house. Chuckling to himself that his plan was coming together, he walked as quickly as he could toward the boundary of the wards, twirling the Deathstick. Sometimes, it was good to be him.

_November Twelfth, 1999  
__Headmaster's Office  
__Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

It was sometimes horrible to be him. After the countless hours of planning, massive effort, and more than a few bribes he had put into them, all of his carefully-laid plans were in ruins. Harry Potter had survived. August Longbottom had survived. Peter Pettigrew had probably survived. Voldemort had fallen. The Lestranges were in prison. McGonagall was getting mutinous. Trelawney was being insufferable. Hagrid was being insufferable and mutinous. The Wizengamot was being insufferable, mutinous, and boring. The Grey were still sitting on the fence, only this time, they were not voting at all, which meant he wasn't getting nearly as much passed as he hoped. The Dark was being clever, throwing bribes and passing the more controversial laws that Dumbledore had wanted passed, so all was not lost, but still, things were bad.

Still, in dark times like these, it payed to look on the good side. Though he himself wasn't the savior of the wizarding, Harry Potter was, and he was just a toddler. Dumbledore would be able to use him as a straw man to get laws passed for the next few decades, at least, and he wouldn't even have to tell him. All in all, that was a good catch, and he had even been able to lock him in with some horrible muggle family Lilly had to make sure he would be pliable, compliant, and, best of all, he would hate anything Muggle. It was perfect!

Better still, Sirius Black was in Azkaban! He had initially hoped that Black would resist arrest and be killed, but he hadn't. At this point, he had been worried he would have to kill Black with his own hand to make sure he wouldn't go on trial, but then, Barty Crouch, Senior had called a meeting between him, Bagnold, and himself to "discuss the issue", and had offered an ingenious solution. The idea of sending Black straight to Azkaban without a trial appealed to Dumbledore immensely, though he had hemmed and hawed quite dramatically about it at first. It had been a work of art to see to it that Barty had thought he was against it, and had only agreed "to make sure the betrayer of the Savior of the Wizarding World's parents didn't end up bribing his way out of Azkaban". Of course, Bagnold had been against it, but a few overpowered compulsions from the ever-ready Elder Wand had seen to that, not that Crouch would ever find that out. All in all, the situation was perfect. With Sirius Black dead, he would be a villain for a few years, tops. With him rotting in Azkaban, however, well! He would be a monster under the bed for a decade, at least! That is, if he lives that long. After all, Azkaban is a dangerous place.

Finally, the best piece of news he had was the bill that he had just gotten passed through the Wizengamot. For the longest time, Dumbledore had been trying to solve three problems at once. First, how to make it so that only the magics he deemed worthwhile were used; second, a way to but down halfbloods and muggle-born and -raised witches and wizards and make them stop showing up the purebloods; and finally, the ability to monitor all the magic that happened in Britain away from hotspots like the ministry, Hogwarts, or pureblood homes so that another Lilly Potter situation wouldn't show up without any warning. In front of him sat the subtle and clever answer to all three at once, all while appearing to go something different. The bill was simply labeled: The Trace. All in all, Dumbledore viewed this as one of his better pieces of work.

One of the oldest laws in wizarding Britain was the Underage Magic Law, a law that made it illegal for anyone under the age of seventeen to cast magic without a supervisor. While made in good faith, the law itself was almost exclusively ignored, as it was remarkable difficult to prove whether any magic produced was the fault of an underage wizard, or if, in fact, they didn't have a magical supervisor. Most people ignored it, but Dumbledore saw an opportunity and took it.

The Trace bill was advertised as a way to make sure underage witches and wizards were not being attacked, and to make sure that, in these troubled times, they did not add the trouble by being careless with their magic. The trace machine would require myriad small runestones with the Hebrew phrase: **תגלה שינוי בקסם**. Easy to carve, and in an obscure language so they would be harder to work around. These stones would then be shrunk down to the size of sand grains, and, with the help of a little storm magic, would be seeded all over the country. Now, here was where it got good. The stones connected to a central exchange, a massive magic-grown Kyanite stone. Hidden in the stone was the inscription: **Реци штапићу смрти**. The first inscription was merely the Hebrew phrase "Detect change in magic", but the second was Russian for "tell the wand of death." The junction stone would then filter out all uses of adult magic, sending it straight to the Elder Wand, and send the underage magic through to the Underage Magic Department. That way, the government could take care of the kids, and Dumbledore could take care of the rest. But the best part, by far, was the fact that the stone naturally resonated _with_ acceptable magic, and _against_ all other types. It was brilliant!

After a few more moments thinking, Dumbledore broke into a smile. Yes, things had not gone as planned, but, with the Elder wand at his side, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was more than a match for anything that got thrown at him.

_May Thirty-first, 2011  
__Headmaster's Office  
__Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Dumbledore was really getting tired of Harry Potter. No matter how many times he threw the runt at Voldemort, he just wouldn't die! Voldemort hadn't found him during the ten years at the Dursley's, even with the blood ward that clearly broadcasted Harry's location to anyone magical. He hadn't been killed during his first year, even though he was a slouch with a wand and was going up against the greatest Dark Lord of England's history _combined_ with a skilled and powerful warrior. And this last time, Voldemort had had a bloody basilisk and had lost to a twelve-year-old with a hat, a songbird, and a sword!

Boiling with anger, Dumbledore did the only thing he could at times like these. He popped a lemon drop in his mouth, got up from his desk, walked to a blank wall, opened a door to a secret room, used that to go into a secret room under that secret room, picked up a specific secret object, which took him to a secret library, where he pulled a specific book to open a secret door to a secret hall in the secret library that could only be reached by secret portkey…. well, you get the idea. After almost an hour of this, he finally opened the secret compartment, in the puzzle box, in the secret safe, in the safe, in the hidden compartment of a very well-hidden desk. From that compartment, he pulled out a smokey white marble. Setting it on the on the desk, he tapped it with his wand.

**_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord arises… Born in sorrow, his power brought forth in the fire of battle, destined to bring war… The Lord shall seek him as a pawn, and bring low his family, yet, though, him its greatness shall grow all the more… The Great Monster shall fight the heir of Merlin, as the tale of Morgana is told… touched by three of beastkind, the faceless, whose name is Anathema, the kindly one, hiding bloody soil, and the oppressed one, to be saved… These three shall be his tokens, and by them, the war shall be won… peace will come forth, the Powerless Queen will go to her place, and an age of prestigious magicks shall begin._**

Dumbledore smiled. This was his validation. His family brought low by Grindelwald, yet he stood taller than any before him. His power, the Death Stick, came to him during his fight with Grindelwald. He had fought him next to a theater that was playing King Arthur. Grindelwald had tried, and failed to control him. He had helped Hagrid out of his oppression, and was viewed as a good man because of it. He had hired the half-beast Flitwick as a teacher, a popular choice, and goblins were known for killing wizards underground. He wasn't sure about the faceless, but it would either make sense in time or, had already been completed. Now, he would finally kill the muggle queen and bring about the Golden Age, no matter how hard he had to try to kill Harry Bloody Potter.

As he made his way back, as was his habit, he stopped in his secret library to see if any ideas came to him. As he was browsing the shelves, a particular title caught his eye. With a grin, he pulled the book of the shelf and made his way back to his office, reading as he went. He could barely contain his excitement, as the answer to the Potter Problem was in this book. It would take a couple years, and a great deal of care, but Harry Potter would die, and the Triwizard Tournament would see to it.


	2. Dragonborn

A.N.: First, I don't own Harry Potter in any way.

Now that that is out of the way, a few things you should know about this story. The first few chapters will be kind of hard to follow, but it should get easier as I go along. Part of this is that I don't really have a super clear idea of where this is going, but most of it is intentional. This is supposedly (_kinda_) told from Harry's perspective, and at this part, he is hung over, digesting a boggart, and having a huge mental breakdown for having to face a bloody _dragon_! I am sorry for the difficulty, but try to follow it through, and the format will make sense in a couple chapters. This is INTENTIONAL, even if it is a bit of a pain. The reveal should make it worthwhile, but if it doesn't, message me and I will change it.

Also, this story is going to be more _organic_ than structured. I don't really know where it is going, but I probably won't stop when we gank Voldy. Don't know for sure, but you will see why I might have bigger plans than that, Not for sure if I will have another big bad, or if it will be more just for fun, but in either case, I hope you enjoy it.

Last thing, then it is story time. I have no idea what my update schedule will be like. I am currently working on multiple stories at the same time as going to college, so I can't swear to a schedule. That being said, I will try to keep up with it, and I apologize in advance for any issues with the style/story/updating routine. All that aside, I hope you enjoy this, as I know I will.

Thanks for reading

-OOooOOOooOO-

Harry Potter was an inch from going crazy. To be honest, his life was so bad up to this point, he wasn't sure how much more he could take. It had all started when he had faced Voldemort in his first year. (_A blood-red, gold-veined stone, clutched so tightly in his hand he was bleeding around it._) The troll that same year was tough, but he was new to the magical world, so he had expected some issues. (_His knees wrapped so hard around the troll's neck; it was having trouble breathing. The skin was so rough, it was rubbing his calves raw._) Still, he had driven the monster off (Voldemort, not the troll) even as (_the face made of smoke passed straight through him. As it did, Harry felt like he had lost something he never knew he had, and really didn't want. And his scar! It burst open, leaking black pus and bleeding._) Unfortunately, his stupid wand had never worked right after that. He had gone to Ollivander's at the start of his second year, but the old man, while admitting he no longer seemed to have much of a connection to it, had tested him and found that no wand was any closer to him than that one. Truth be told, compared to his home life, he was more than happy to go through a "trial by fire" in his first year to escape the Dursley's each year thereafter, and even put up with a troublesome wand for the rest of his life as well, things didn't really get better.

In his second year, people were getting turned into stone left and right. Everyone thought it was him because he could talk to snakes, but he could bloody talk to all animals! Did that matter? Nooooo. Just because he was a bloody parslemouth, everyone, even his own friends (only a little bit, but it still hurt), thought he was the Heir of Slytherin. Ironically, as the fang pieced the diary, and he bested Tom Marvolo Riddle, The Heir of Slytherin, he now was the Heir of house Slytherin by conquest. Not that he planned on telling anyone that. They would probably burn him at the stake.

Even worse, he had gotten bitten twice that year! Once by (_a young acromantula, trying to slow him down so the elders could eat him, drain him, suck him dry_), its (his? her?) words, not Harry's, then by the (_bloody Basilisk ramming its head down the sword so far he got stabbed in two places, one with the fang being lodged in his arm so far he had a hole clear though the other side._) At least he got revenge on Tom by stabbing the bloody diary with that same fang. He and Tom dying the same way would be sweet justice. He wasn't sure if he should be glad that (_Fawkes had messed that up by crying on his arm._) Sure, he had healed a hole clean through Harry's arm and kept him alive with only a slight scar, but it might have been a nice way to go, and he could have finally relaxed and not had people hating him and blaming him for things he didn't do. At least he had saved Ginny, and Hemione. Actually, technically, he had saved the whole student population twice, maybe even three times.

He was glad he hadn't gotten bitten that many times his first year. Only (_Fluffy had managed to bite him! Just as he was falling, the dammed dog had managed a nip! No wonder he felt so confused. Cerberus venom caused hallucinations, even in small doses_). I'll go after Snape alone, indeed. What was he, an eleven-year-old first year supposed to do against a teacher at the world's best school of magic! Honestly, he was glad he had some reason for that brilliant decision, That, and (_the shard of enchanted marble embedded in his arm from the chess piece he had taken during the game Professor McGonagall_) had made him feel a little better about being so dumb back then. Of course, he had no excuse for his (_Falling backwards and scrabbling away from the wraith as it glided toward him. As he ended up dragging his scratched palm through a puddle of Unicorn's blood, he had only three thoughts on his mind._) 1.)Please don't eat me, 2.)why did they send three first years into the bloody FORBIDDEN FOREST, and 3.)I really hope I don't get cursed for blood on blood contact with a unicorn. It had all worked out, but still, less than stellar performance all the way around.

At least his time with Dobby had worked out. Not only had he had lessons in the magical world and inside info on the Malfoys, but his decision to bond with Harry had had the unexpected side-effect of making his magic undetectable by, well, anyone who didn't see it happen. His time with Dobby could have devolved into a stalker-ish devotion on behalf of the little guy that would plague him for years. He already had enough long-term side effects from magical creatures in the magical world. He still wished he could get the splinters of (_Devil's Snare that had grabbed him so tight he could feel it digging into his back_) out, never mind his partial insanity from getting partially kissed by a dementor. Any time he looked at someone in the eyes, or stared at them to long, he started seeing a weird, flame-like aura around them. Could be that he had something wrong with his eyes. He had started to be able to see in the dark, too, ever since his "run-in" with Moony the werewolf last year. That, and his sudden, irrational, and long-lasting fear of silver made him believe he was going were at first, but it seemed like this, too, was in his head. Merlin knows, he had enough going on to drive him 'round the bend.

Yesterday, he was so out of it, he drank a bottle of fire whiskey and went on a bender with Hagrid, Allistor Moody, and Draco Malfoy, of all people. Thankfully everyone had agreed that they were all completely wasted, and only Fred and George Weasley, and Peeves the Poltergeist, had any idea what they did all day. Apparently two drunk teachers and two drunk students was too much fun to pass up, but by the end of the day, the twins were white-faced as they recounted the story. Apparently, among other feats, they had streaked through the Forbidden Forest, kissed Mandrakes on the lips, wrestled a hippogriff, and Harry had decided to eat fear for breakfast, so they hunted down a Boggart so he could do just that to get him ready for today (not that it had helped, and now he had a royally sick stomach). The twins finally managed to get them to calm down with the idea of a poker game, but, somehow, Harry managed to pay out in Leprechaun gold, and the twins still had no idea how he had got it, since the last time they saw a leprechaun was when a drunk one kissed Harry after Ireland won the World Cup several months ago!

But the biggest thing he was worried about was right now. Here he was, sitting in a tent, waiting for his turn at The First Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and he was about to face off against dragons. When the first figurine had been pulled out of the bag, he had begun to worry. When his turn came, and he pulled out a Hungarian Horntail, the fiercest dragon alive, he had begun to hyperventilate. Now, as he heard the crowd cheering and groaning, and the medical staff freaking out in the next tent over as he waited for his turn, he was starting to crack. Finally, when he heard his name being called, he started walking toward the arena like he was heading to the gallows.

Just outside the tent, Hermione and Ron were waiting. Hemione, ashen faced, tried to cheer him up and get him focused. Ron looked smug. "Not so hot now, are you, Potter?" he sneered. "Hagrid wanted me to tell you what to expect for this task, but since you were too high and mighty to tell me how to get into the Tournament, I figured you wouldn't want to hear from a git like me. How do you like it now, Potter? Is it worth it for more fame? Hope you don't die!" Ron was walking away even as he finished talking, chuckling to himself. Hermione looked like she either had been stabbed in the stomach, or she was going to stab Ron in the stomach. The last of the color drained from Harry's face. Sure, he and Ron had fought before, but this was tantamount to murder! Ron had known, and hadn't told him?! His first friend had set him up to die!

Hermione was saying something, but Harry didn't hear her. He started walking toward the arena, gradually working his way up to a full-out run. Brandishing his wand like a sword, he charged straight at the dragon, screaming at the top of his lungs. Then, suddenly, but not surprisingly, his world burst into flames.


	3. Waking Up

A.N. Alright, new chapter! Yay!

As you guys can probably tell, I am a rather new author. I also have a rather busy life that I am trying to keep up with. I know that I need to get my priorities straight and spend more time working on these. I am sorry guys; I know I am a failure as a human. JK

That being said, you have probably noticed my chapters are somewhat short, and my upload time is rather sporadic. I am sorry about this, and am trying to improve it, but I really can't make any promises for the future. That being said, this chapter nearly doubles the total length of the story. I doubt this will be a common occurrence, but there it is.

I am also pleased to announce that we have gone over one thousand views. Really pumped about that, guys. Keep on reading, and I will try to keep on writing.

You will also notice that chapter two shares several similarities with chapter one in its unusual perspective. This won't be a major part of the story in the future, this is just to wrap up what happened in chapter one. Hopefully things will get clearer from here on out.

I have heard several people asking me to change my pairings up a bit, but I can't really make any promises as far as the main relationships go. That being said, I have an idea to POSSIBLY include others, so if you have any suggestions as far as additions, removals, or changes go, PM me. I can use all the help I can get. Also, if you see any typos or other issues, PM me. I'd say, put it in the comment section, but if you comment on a typo, and I remove it, that could get awkward.

Also, Bellatrix is going to stay mostly nutty, so expect her to be a bit… odd.

All that being said, NEW CHAPTER:

-ooOOooOOoo-

_November 28th, 2012  
__Hogwarts Infirmary  
__Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

He knew he was waking up, because his body felt like it was on fire. He also knew he was waking up in the infirmary (again) because of the scent of freshly-washed cotton sheets, the incredibly uncomfortable bed he was in, and the stench of foul-tasting potions, but he didn't know what he was hearing. Keeping half an ear on the strangely muted conversation and ambient noise to try and figure out what was going on, he busied himself to remember what had put him in the infirmary. It took a bit, and his memories were somewhat jumbled up, but he was getting something.

_He was facing down the entrance to the arena for the first task. Ron had betrayed him. Hermione was calling his name, but the dragon was calling him louder. Time to see if he really was the Savior of the Wizarding World. If he was, this dragon wouldn't be an issue for him!_

"Manticore Venom?" This voice, Harry called it Lawyer, was older, somewhat kindly, but full of knowledge, like his throat could barely keep from bursting with untold secrets.

_PING_, CLAP! "Looks like, no." Harry called this one Shamrock. Not to be racist, but the speaker was clearly an Irishman, and he couldn't think of anything else at the moment.

"Darn." Lawyer sounded very sad. Harry, however, was quite glad he had never met a manticore, and he probably would never want to.

_As he was charging the dragon, wand stretched out like a sword, he felt a wave of power pulse through him like a drumbeat, pounding though his head, making him run even faster. The crowd was screaming in terror, the cacophony of voices making the dragon even angry, but also confusing it. A loud shriek of "HARRY, NO!" came from behind him, and Harry knew it was Hermione's voice. She sounded scared for some reason, but he couldn't see why. It's not like he was facing a Basilisk! Voldemort wasn't even here! And that power, that POWER, would see to it that he would win. This dragon would bow before him. Who was it, to say him nay!_

Harry was quite concerned about this bit of memory. For one, in it, he was CHARGING DOWN A DRAGON! That felt vaguely important, if it was true. For another, in his memories he was either going insane, or was imagining things, because he seemed to remember expecting the dragon to give way to him, and that didn't seem sane or right.

"How about… _Cerberus_ venom?"

_PING_, CLAP! "That's a winner, Nick!"

A scratching sound hit his ears, like a quill on parchment. Harry really hoped they weren't authors or journalists writing his 'true life story', but knowing his luck, if they weren't them, others would be around here somewhere. He could _swear_ he could smell Rita Skeeter somewhere nearby. It was an unpleasant smell, even of it was faint, like… rotting apples.

"Hahaha, another one. Well, Mr. Potter, you _are_ worth seeing. Now, Rick, how about _hydra_ venom."

"Really? What is it with you and venoms?"

"Just find out, already!"

Harry was interested, to, but the memories he was having were getting serious, so, during the wait, he turned his mind back to figuring out what had happened

_A wave of flames was rolling towards him, but he didn't stop, wouldn't stop' COULDN'T stop. He had to get the clue, the fire was in the way, so straight through the fire he would go! No half-hearted Dragon Fire would stop him!_

'Yeah, that seems like a good place to pause. No Dragon fire for him, thanks,' Harry thought. He turned his mind back to the conversation, not really wanting to know what happened next in his memories.

_PING_, CLAP! "No again. Try something else this time, something REALLY odd."

"Fine, let me think a minute."

In this pause, Harry knew he should go back to remembering, even if he didn't want to. Something told him that the next bit was going to be important, and not very good.

_The fire was burning him! It hurt! Why was it hurting? He always played with fire, didn't he? He sure felt like he got burned often enough. Everyone was always after him, blaming him, betraying him, hunting him, killing him, on bit at a time. He just wanted to rest, but the fire wouldn't stop burning! The confused dragon was staring at him as he burned, but he staggered onwards. HE MUST GET THE GOLDEN EGG! He needed it. He had to have it._

Yeah, that was that not good part he was worried about. Burning up by Dragon Fire didn't seem to be the cause of his injuries, however, as that would have been more likely to put him in an urn than the infirmary. Maybe all the contestants had flame-freezing charms cast on them to keep them alive? But no, all of the previous contestants had gotten burned. Maybe… no, he had no idea. He decided to table that in favor of the surrounding conversation for the moment.

"Dementor soul?"

"Oh, _that's_ a good one. I'd bet good money he couldn't get that close to a greycloak wraith and survive."

"No bet. You rarely lose, and I don't feel like buying you alcohol after you stunt two days ago."

"FINE!" _PING_, CLAP! Ting, ting, ting. "Damn."

"Well, go get it, ya lazy git!"

"Fine..." Harry could here grumbling, then a chair creak as someone got up from it, then, shuffling footsteps. There was a brief pause, then: "DAMN! He does have it!"

"What! He snogged a greycloak and lived?! How?"

"How am I supposed to know, you idiot! We'll ask him when he wakes up!"

"And you were willing to bet on it, too. I can't believe I passed that up!"

"Don't feel to bad, Nick, it was the safe bet. How could you have known?"

The faint sound of grumbling once again reached Harry's ears, and Harry could hear the chair give a faint groan as someone sat in it again.

Harry chuckled in his head, remembering his last year. Snogged a greycloak, indeed! They hadn't stopped kissing him. His mind broke into gales of laughter as he realized this probably meant he was a good kisser! Feeling a little better after this epiphany (and still mentally chuckling about it,) he went back to remembering while he was in a good enough frame of mind to do it.

_Harry knew something was wrong. He just couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Why had it felt like the dragon's claw had passed right through his stomach? He dropped the stump that had been his wand, but now was more of a candle, to pat his chest, but it was in one piece, not bleeding, and still burning. He was too close to it for the attack to miss, but, besides the weird feeling in his core, he didn't seem to be hurting. That was also odd. He was on fire. Shouldn't that hurt? He was burning up, turning into ash, and drifting away, but he didn't hurt. How odd. He knew something was off, because it looked like the dragon was trying to hand him the golden egg. Still, it was a nice dream so he reached out to take the egg, lay down cuddling it in the nice, warm fire, and went to sleep._

Okay, so maybe he fell down a flight of stairs, and this was all a concussion-induced fever dream. That made a hell of a lot more sense than that being real. He would ask Hermione, she would know.

"Does he have Were Essence?" the inquisitive one asked again.

"Yesterday was the full moon. Of _course,_ he doesn't!"

"Check anyway."

"Fine!" _PING_, CLAP! "_Dammit_! How can he have Essence of Werewolf _and not be a bloody werewolf_!"

"Fate, ya ijjut. 'Sides, why is that hard to believe when he has GreyCloak Extract in his blood"

"You know I hate it when you do that, Nick. Stop making sense, and talking like a bloody Yank, or I _yank_ your tongue."

"That…. was very lame."

"Shut up."

Harry, with his head pounding, body aching, eyes sore, and everything else hurting, his head stuffed full of several very bad, extremely terrifying, and hugely surreal memories, had finally had enough listing to these people, whoever they were, drivel on. It was time for him to do something grand and decisive about it. Concentrating all of his willpower, strength and focus, he opened his mouth, gathered his breath, and groaned out: "Yes, please shut up." He was quite pleased with his efforts, but, beside a surprised gasp and a quite chuckle from nearby, it didn't seem to have the desired effect. To the contrary, an instant later several people surrounded him and started nattering away rather loudly.

"Potter, what did you use to survive the task? I should have expected you to cheat, you're just like you father!" "Mister Potter, have you beaten all of your previous enemies by using Necromancy?" "Harry, my boy, glad to see you are getting up. I hope you are feeling better. What was that piece of magic you used to pass the Task?" "HAARRYYYYYY!"

That last one was accompanied by Hermione, for it was definitely her voice, leaping on his bed and wrapping him in one of her fierce hugs. Strangely, this seemed to make his pain recede, not flare up. He pried his eyes open to look at her, noticing that she was still wearing the same clothes, and the shadows were long in the dim room, making it the evening of the same day as the task. Pleased with that fact (he still hated his three-day unconscious spell at the end of the first year) he thought he'd go with humor for the time being. If that was the case, he knew the perfect thing to say.

"Hey, 'Mione. How many points did I win?"

-ooOOooOOoo-

Hermione looked at Harry as if she was an about to strangle him. "Harry James Potter! What kind of a question is that?!" Harry sighed. Now that his head was clearing up, he realized that had been a monumentally stupid thing to say. He would blame it on the potions, but honestly, he was more than familiar with Foot-In-Mouth syndrome for that to be the primary cause. All he could do now was let her get it out of her system, and apologies after. "First, you go on a bender the day before a life-and-death tournament _without_ me and with Draco 'The Ponce' Malfoy, then you practically ignore me as you head into the arena to charge down the throat of a dragon while yelling like a madman, and then, your first question when you wake up in the infirmary is about your points for the _bloody First Task?_ What were you thinking?! You could have died! I could have lost you!"

With that thought, Hermione lost the battle she had been fighting with her emotions, and she collapsed face-first on to his chest, sobbing. Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall were decent (or, in Snape's case, embarrassed) enough to shuffle off a bit to give them some space, but Rita _bloody_ Skeeter and her faithful shadow, Bozo, decided this would make a perfect cover for the morning news. Thankfully, two people Harry had never seen before decided to take affront to that. A decent-looking older gentleman in nice wizarding robes jumped up from where he was sitting and side-swiped Bozo just as he took the picture. Not enough to hurt him, Harry realized with some disappointment, but the bump to the photographer's shoulder was more than enough to ensure he got a lovely picture of the ceiling, and nothing else; and just as Rita was about to cram her quick-quote quill down Harry's throat again, a red-headed gentleman in a green muggle suit and vest with a tasteful shamrock-colored hat stepped in front of her and flicked a galleon in the air. As soon as the coin hit the floor, Rita, who had forgone breakfast that morning to preserve her figure and had missed out on lunch in excitement for the tournament, turned pale, closed her eyes, and fainted from hunger. Mme. Pomphrey looked at her, sighed, and levitated her into a hospital bed nearby, accidentally bumping her head twice on the way there.

"Well," said the red-head, "that was unfortunate." He _sounded_ sorry enough, but the grin on his face seemed to indicate no sorrow on his part, a feeling Harry heartily agreed with. Anything unfortunate, short of death, was just what Rita Skeeter deserved. However, he really didn't have much time to enjoy the situation, as Hermione seemed to be trying to drown him through osmosis, and he still was having trouble figuring out what had happened.

Harry was completely bewildered. Not as to why Hermione was crying, as he had been in enough life-and-death situations, and seen enough people almost die, that he could understand much of what she was feeling, even if she seemed to be overreacting just a bit. No, at the moment, he had two huge things he couldn't wrap his mind around.

First on his list, and quite important, was the Merlin-be-damned Tri-Wizard Tournament. This, too, had three big things he would like to know. One, and by far the biggest, was "Will I survive?" Very important, to be sure, but honestly, he was so used to almost dying, he really didn't care to much one way or the other. Not that he wanted to die, but "Will I survive?" ranked right next to "Did I do my homework?" or "Will Snape vanish my potion right before I finish it?". It was just another important day-to-day question, and he wasn't dead, or about to die, at the moment, so it could wait.

Far more important to him at the moment was the big question pair: "Who set me up to compete, and why?" This duo had been driving him nuts for weeks now, but he was no closer to figuring out now, and he had no new information, so it could wait for a bit as well.

The biggest question had as far as the whole tournament was concerned, at the moment, was "_WHAT THE BLOODY HELL HAPPENED DURING THE FIRST TASK?!_" Truth be told, he barely remembered any of it, and what he did remember made no sense. Had he really charged straight at the dragon? If so, why? Where was his wand? Did he really get burnt with Dragon's Fire and hit in the stomach with a dragon's claw? If not, what had happened, and why did he think otherwise? If so, why was he in good condition? And why did Dragon's Fire seem like a proper name to him? Also, had the dragon really handed him the egg? Could a dragon hand something with claws, or did they 'claw' something to someone? Something was obviously up, at it didn't seem to be his I.Q. at the moment, because none of this made any sense.

And, now that he brought his physical and mental condition up, that also raised several other issues. For one, he felt great, and was feeling better by the second. Part of it seemed to come with being so close to Hermione for some reason, but he knew that couldn't be all. As he watched, his skin, which was slightly red and raw, was rapidly turning back to its normal color, and his nails seemed to be in perfect condition as well. It wasn't as if he was horrible on them, but he was a guy, and he did tend to chew his nails, so it wasn't really surprising that they were normally a little ragged, but now, they were not only in perfect condition, but they actually looked really sharp! He, frankly speaking, was a little concerned that if went to scratch an itch, he would scratch himself instead.

And, speaking of itches, he currently didn't. He always itched at least a little, especially when in the infirmary (he would swear up and down they made those beds uncomfortable to discourage re-visits. They were as hard as a rock, and the sheets felt like high-grade sandpaper) and doubly so when some sort of skin condition or burn put him there. Most people get used to a small, constant level of itching from hair, clothes, and the like, but at the moment, he realized he really didn't itch _at all_. At least, he didn't itch until he moved. The second he shifted in bed, a hundred small itches sprung up all over his body, making him go into a sudden intense scratching session trying to get his skin to calm down just a bit, but shortly after it started, it just faded away as if it had never happened.

As he stared at his skin in consternation (Hermione loved that word), he realized another thing that nearly made him pass out in shock. He could see! Not only could he see up close, the longer he stared at his skin, the more his eyes zoomed in on it, until it looked like a topographical map of a dessert. A very alive dessert. Suddenly realizing how many germs and microbes were on his skin, Harry quickly looked away, trying to fight down a rather intense round of nausea, and accidently looked out the window. Much to his surprise, there appeared to be a hawk between him and the window, its feathers glistening in the evening light as it twisted and turned in the air. His vision seemed to be a bit blurry, but the strangest thing was his sudden desire to catch it.

He was so entranced with the bird, that he didn't notice that he was actually trying to get up and walk towards it until Madame Pomphrey suddenly shouted "Oh, no you don't!" and Incarceroused him to the bed.

"Oops. Sorry, Mme. Pomphrey. I was just going to look at that bird in the window, honest."

Mme. Pomphrey looked down on him in concern. "Mr. Potter, I'm going to check you for a concussion now. You didn't seem to have one before, but it seems like you are seeing things. What bird?"

Harry glanced at the window, looked back, looked full out the window with shock in his eyes, then looked at her, confusion evident on his face and pointed out the window. "That one. The one that is flying over the Forbidden Forest. For a second there, I could see it so well I thought it was between me and the window!"

Mme. Pomphrey glanced at Harry, glanced out the window, did a double take, and stared at Harry in amazement. Instantly, her amazement turned to worry, and she started doing a series of complicated diagnostic spells, pointing her wand right in Harry's face, then started moving it down his body, even going so far as to gently push Hermione out of the way. After a moment, she sighed and said "Nothing is ever normal with you, is it Mister Potter. Most people would be dead after a stunt like you pulled today, but you seem to be in good shape, your eyes are phenomenally good, far better than twenty/twenty vision, you are eight inches taller, have far fewer scars, and you gained about thirty-five pounds in muscles."

Harry started to laugh, then stopped when he realized she wasn't. He was so confused that he leaped out of the bed so fast he broke the binding spell and accidentally dumped Hermione on the floor, making her cry harder. He looked down at himself, and realized she was telling the truth. With ease, he reached down and gently picked Hermione up holding her against his chest as she cried and resting his chin in her hair. Not a day ago, he had been slightly below eye level with her, but now he was the taller one. Shocked by all this, he just let his thoughts drift away and focused on Hermione. He normally wasn't the 'touching' type, but she was the major, and to the best of his knowledge, only exception to that rule. As he stood there, he breathed in her scent, when he noticed another new thing, this time about her. Her smell was much stronger than normal, the lilac shampoo she used standing out more than normal, but more than that, he could smell other things as well. Hidden in amongst her other scents, he caught the smell of horse's sweat, a hint of dirt, and, most concerningly, he smelled blood. Instantly, he pulled away to check and make sure she was ok.

She looked up at him with confusion on her face. "What's wrong, Harry?"

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"No." she replied, obviously still confused, "Why did you ask?"

Harry instantly got nervous as several possible answers for why she might smell like blood, and decided it would be a bad idea to discuss this now. So, of course, he copped out. "I did jump up pretty quick. I was worried I might have hurt you."

She gave him a teary-eyed frown. "You did hurt me, just not physically. Are you INSANE! You almost got yourself _killed_!"

Not sure how to take her reaction, Harry decided to try for humor. With a teasing smile on his face, he said "Cheer up. At least I wouldn't have gotten myself expelled!"

Her frown deepened, and he realized that was the wrong tack to take. He re-embraced her. "Look, Hermione, I'm sorry for scaring you, and for my inordinately bad jokes. I didn't mean to scare you. The jokes were, unfortunately, intentional. I'd claim temporary insanity, but it doesn't seem to be going away. To be honest, I didn't mean to do anything I did during the first task. I was under so much pressure from people claiming I cheated my way in, and school, and my home life, and… Ron… that I just sort of snapped. I was just acting on pure instinct. I'm not even sure I remember what I did. Did I really charge a dragon? What happened to my wand? Did I even get the egg?"

"You don't remember?" Harry shook his head, and Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath. "After… Ron… y-you started walking towards the arena like you were in a daze. I t-tried to talk to you, b-but it was like you couldn't here me. The closer you got to the arena, the faster you were going, until you practically sprinted out into the open. You didn't cast any spells, or do anything but scream at the top of your lungs, charging the dragon like you wanted to stab it with your wand. Then…" her breath caught, and she snuggled deeper into his chest. Harry waited for a minute, then she drew a deep breath and continued. "The d-dragon breathed fire at you. Y-you were burning like a torch, but the weird thing was, it didn't smell like you were burning, but bits of ash were peeling off your body, at it looked like you were burning, and re-growing, and burning, and re-growing over and over again. Then the dragon tried to take a slash at you, but it must have missed, because nothing happened except more ash floating away. I am not sure if a dragon can frown in confusion, but that one certainly tried. Then, you started babbling about needing the egg, but your voice sounded all wrong, like you were a whole zoo of animals speaking English at once, only worse, and way louder. It was scary, but kind of awesome. I couldn't make out all of what you were saying over the noise, but it must have worked, because the dragon started licking its eggs. Then, w-when it got to the golden egg you were supposed to get, it picked it up with its tongue, dropped it into its claw, and just… gave it to you. And you staggered back a couple of steps, and lay down on the ground, cuddling the egg like a teddy bear. You were still on fire, but you didn't even react. You just went to sleep. That scared me more than anything. I thought… I thought you had layed down and died."

"Lied down. No, lie down. Lay down? It should be some form of lie, not lay."

"Harry!" Hermione said with a sobbing laugh. "Now is not the time for grammar."

'What about gramper?"

Hermione smacked his arm, hard. That turned out to be a bad idea. A rather loud crack rang out, and Hermione looked at her hand in shock. Two of her fingers were starting to swell and turn purple, and her legs gave out. Harry immediately called Mme. Pomphrey over, set Hermione on the bed he had just vacated, and started to freak out and babble apologies for… whatever had just happened, the tournament, not turning in his homework. Honestly, he was apologizing for whatever he could think of.

Mme. Pomphrey bustled over in a very healer-like way. "Mr. Potter, could you please stop making it necessary for me to wish I had gone into potion-mastery? Honestly, you are enough to make me want to retire young!"

All commotion had brought the headmaster and Snape back, and Snape had started sneering even worse than normal at the healer's comment about potion-mastering. Apparently, he saw himself as the only person worthy to even consider such a trade. Dumbledore, however, decided that "Mr. potter seemed well enough for a brief visit to my office to discuss what happened during the first task." Harry was exceptionally eager to stay by Hermione's side, but she said she was fine, and would talk to him later. Mme. Pomphrey, oddly enough, seemed desperate to get him out of the infirmary, which surprised Harry no end. Normally, he had to beg until she was tired of his whining to get out of here, and even then, she would wait awhile to show him whining didn't pay off. But, when it came right down to it, he was too thankful to look this proverbial gift horse its allegorical mouth. As soon as he thought that, the traitorous thought _'I am spending WAY too much time with Hermione'_ crossed his mind, and was swiftly and violently executed for its crimes. As much as he (had) loved Ron like a brother, Hermione was the only person who he felt really understood him, even if it was only to be disappointed by what she saw. He should try to prove himself to her more.

As they reached the gargoyle that led to the headmaster's office, something unusual happened to pull Harry out of his revere. Normally, when he had visited here before, he would state the password, the gargoyle had waited a moment as if examining him for something, then would hop aside to let him. This time, before he even got close to the office, the gargoyle looked up with a start, stared at him with something he could only describe as horror, and leaped of its pedestal and ran away! Harry realized, in that moment, he had to become better friends with the Weasleys. If this was their work (and he thought it likely) they had more potential than he ever realized, and a damn fine sense of humor to boot. Of course, it was very hard for him to think this from his current position (rolling on the floor, laughing) but he managed. The looks of horror on Snape and Dumbledore's faces were priceless, and, probably for his first time ever, he realized these two were just men. Snape wasn't some bloodsucking beast out for Harry's intestines, he was a middle-age, bitter teacher who needed sympathy and good humor, not hatred and fear. And Dumbledore! If a prank like this could faze him, he was no Merlin. Sure, he had the kindly grandfather act down, and sure, he was both knowledgeable and powerful, but he was just an elderly man, as human and fallible as the next guy.

"Mr. Potter," the headmaster exclaimed, "what did you do to my gargoyle?!"

Harry instantly stopped laughing. "I didn't do anything. you were right behind me, and you were watching me. As such, you could tell I didn't affect it in any way. I really don't appreciate baseless accusations, Professor Dumbledore. I get enough of those from the students, the press, and even my own family. Speaking of family, Professor Snape, I found out from my aunt last summer that you knew my mother in your younger years. Would you be willing to tell me about it some time?"

Snape looked stuck between sneering, happy, sad, and angry, so Harry rushed to give him an out. "You don't have to if you don't want to, Professor. I just haven't gotten to talk to many people who knew her well, and the only thing I heard from my aunt were some… unpleasant lies. If you can find the time, I'd be more than happy you help you out in any way I can in return. I know how much of a mess each potion class can make, and I wouldn't want to cause any trouble. Who knows, spending more time in the lab might help me pick up more about potion-making. I know for sure it isn't my best class. If I could ask an extra favor as well, you wouldn't happen to have any book recommendations I could read in order to help me not be such a nuisance in class?"

Now Snape just looked petrified. He stood there for about five seconds, cleared his throat, cleared it again, coughed, then said, with just a _hint_ of a sneer: "Yes, you do seem to cause quite a few issues. Come down to the lab later, and we'll see if we can't work something out."

"Thank you, professor." Harry said with a serious face, letting just a hint of a happy smile out, "Maybe this weekend?"

"If you are willing to help me clean, any early afternoon to evening or the weekend during the, just never after 7:30! I have enough of dealing with annoying students during the day, I don't need them filling up my evenings, too. And don't even think of telling anyone about our deal! The last thing I need is hordes of annoying, dunderheaded brats at my door!"

Harry let a bigger, but still faint smile show. "Yes, I could see how that would be a pain. In that case, I will come by at 5:00 in the afternoon, day after tomorrow. Something tells me tomorrow will be too busy for social calls or extra work."

Harry didn't know it, but that was one of the most important moments of his already jam-packed life. This new mindset of his would change the entirety of the next meeting, and, through it, the rest of his life. Even bigger than that, however, this next meeting would trigger events that would lead to one of the greatest wars of all time.


	4. Poetry, Snape Runs, and Prep for a Prank

A.N. Sorry for the delay, and the fact that this is a cliffie. Still, new chapter! Please R&R. Also, Fic rec at the bottom.

You will also notice I changed the paring. Sorry to all you Hermione fans out there, but enough people asked for it, and it fit so well with the story, that I went for it. That being said, it bumped Hermione from medium important to integral to the story. And no, Ron won't get Hermione. Ron probably won't get anyone.

* * *

As Harry made his way up the stairs to the headmaster's office, he was exceptionally nervous. Not about the meeting, of course, he knew he hadn't done anything wrong. No, he was concerned about Hermione. He wasn't sure what he had done to her, but he hated that he had done it. Truth be told, she was really more of a sister to him than anything else, but she was the first person he ever loved. And he hated that he had brought her pain.

But, at the same time as he worried, he felt something else. Deep inside of him, near his center, the very core of his being, he felt… confident. At peace. Even… strong. His whole life, harry had had self-confidence issues. Most of it came from not knowing his parents. Some of it came from the verbal abuse and deprivation of his 'home' life. But in the end, Harry was humble. He just was that nice sort of guy that really didn't like to lord his accomplishments over other. That was what made this feeling so odd. He suddenly knew, that on a basic level, he was better. On some subconscious level, he now saw himself as worth more than the average witch or wizard. It wasn't that he expected people to bow like Voldemort (no, like Tom. He was Just Tom to Harry now. No stupid made-up names for him!), nor did he expect his every desire to be handed to him on a silver platter like he had thought Malfoy had wanted. No, he just… _was_. No expected bonuses or desires, just a basic recognition of value. A galleon was worth more that a Sickle. Not _better_, worth more. As enjoyable as this new-found confidence was, it was also rather… confusing. Ok, it was confusing as hell. What did it mean to be better? How was he suddenly eligible for that descriptor? All in all, Harry had a lot of confusing things on his plate right now.

Finally reaching the top of the stairs, Harry made his way into the headmaster's office. The first order of business, obviously, was to make his way over to Fawkes' perch and bow. He wasn't quite sure WHY that was the first order of business, but it just felt right. As soon as he did that, the regal bird looked up with what would be considered excitement on a lower being's face, trilled happily and… welcomingly? Yes, welcomingly at Harry, gave a brief nod back, and then burst into flames and shot off into the air. Slightly surprised, Harry did the only thing he could. He took the seat across from the headmaster's chair. Just as he took his seat, Dumbledore came in with Snape right behind him, looked around for a minute, and took his own seat. Not surprisingly, Snape moved to his usual stool in the corner. The three sat there for several seconds, not talking. Eventually, the headmaster started the conversation.

"I am sure you must be wondering why I called you here." He began. Harry instantly interjected. "Up until about ten minutes ago, that was what I was wondering. Now, I am contemplating the uselessness of inherent value. You see, it just occurred to mean, that an object of inherent worth, like a diamond, has no advantage over its lesser cousin, a lump of coal, unless someone _outside_ their perspective is capable of seeing, and acting on, the difference. Object A is rarer, harder, and prettier that B, its cousin. But to a man dying of cold, B is more to be _desired_, but that doesn't mean that B is more _valuable_, just that it is more _valued_. Or something like that. I am rather pants at philosophy, after all, so I'm sure I botching that horribly."

"I believe I get your point," the headmaster said, frowning like he was trying to puzzle something out, "But… what does that have to do with our meeting?"

Harry broke out grinning. "Absolutely nothing. Sorry about that. a rabbit popped in for tea, and I ended up chasing rather far down the… um, rabbit hole. That sounded better in my head. What did you want to talk to me about?"

Now Dumbledore looked very concerned, and slightly insulted. "Are you sure you are all right, Mr. Potter? You seem rather more… well, philosophical and distracted than normal. You do appear much cheerier, thankfully, but if these symptoms keep up, we will want to have Mme. Pomphrey double-check that concussion of yours."

Harry couldn't help but burst into peals of laughter. "Thanks for the concern, Dumbledore, but I'm sure it's just endorphins left over from the prank to your gargoyle. Funniest thing I've seen in a while. I'll be right as rain in no time. Was that what you wanted to call me up here for?"

Now Dumbledore was furious, not that he let it show. He, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the Heir of Merlin himself, called a student to his office, and the boy showed him none of the required respect, going so far as to forgo his titles in exchange for his last name! Children these days had no clue how to act properly! It didn't matter that Potter was a Half-Blood Muggle-raised, he should have known to show him more respect. Thank Merlin, this little snot was destined for an early grave! Snape, however, was amazed. True, Potter was showing more than a little arrogance, but he was staying polite, and he was holding his own against Snape's own master. Not that Snape would ever admit his slavery out loud of course, but he wasn't just bitter because he had to teach dumb students, that's for sure!

After a few deep breaths to calm himself, Dumbledore got back on track. After all, he had important things to learn today! "Ah, yes, of course. The reason I called you here today. There have been some questions as to what happened in the arena with the dragon. To say the least, your performance was… confusing. Can you please explain exactly what happened today?"

Harry instantly got more serious. "No, sir, I'm afraid I can't."

"Are you refusing to answer? That would not be for the best, Harry, my boy."

"I am serious, sir. I can't tell you what happened today in the arena, nor can I tell you much of what happened yesterday. I would if I could, but I just… can't"

"Why not? Are you under oath?"

"I'm not sure what you mean by that, sir, which is also the reason why I can't tell you what happened. I can't tell you what I don't know."

"Do you not remember? If you are suffering memory loss, we should get you to the infirmary again."

"It's not exactly memory loss, sirs. Its more like… like a really odd, half-remembered dream. I remember a few things, but none of them make any sense, and, more than that, I don't really remember DOING anything. At least, not anything that would explain what happened during the task. I remember that I got drunk yesterday to forget that today was going to happen. I remember finding out we were facing dragons, and choosing which dragon I would be up against. I remember a very bad conversation with a former friend of mine before entering the ring. And that's about it. Anything else, you would probably remember clearer than me."

"Did you have a fever? Did you do any magic? Did someone do magic to you? Please, my boy, anything you can remember could be important."

"I am sorry sir, but I really don't remember anything. If I did…"

So deep were the two of them in their conversation, neither was paying attention to, or, really, even remembering the fact that Snape was in the room. Unfortunately, that wasn't to last. Snape was following his usual orders from Dumbledore. Sit on the sidelines with a scowl to intimidate the students, interject rudely to play 'bad cop', and probe the mind of the target for information they wanted to keep hidden, nothing he hadn't done a thousand times before, really. But this time was different. He was getting nervous. There was something dangerous in the room. The more he tried to focus, the more he couldn't. he started shaking, unable to see clearly or focus at all. He smelled fire (or was it poison?) filling the room. He could hear snakes hissing, spiders skittering, dementors growling for his soul. There was a dragon in the room, a chimera coming up the stairs, he could hear the shutters being scratched by wendigos! He couldn't take it anymore! With a massive, inhuman howl, he bolted from his stool, shooting down the stairs like a lightning bolt and gibbering in terror. Both of the other occupants of the room were completely mystified.

"What… was that?" Harry asked, completely gobsmacked.

"I… I don't know. However, I think our meeting has gone on long enough. Thank you for the information, Mr. Potter. We will award the point tomorrow over dinner. You may go."

Harry sat therefor another minute, just staring. After a bit, he shook himself, stood up and thanked the headmaster (for some reason) and left to eat. Knowing the school like he did, he knew everyone would be talking about him… again. But this time, he didn't care. Let those who want to be lesser, be lesser, and those who desire to go beyond, to prove themselves. Or, something like that. Honestly, he might need to go back to the infirmary. He was getting poetic! And arrogant, but to be honest, the poetry was more concerning.

-HP—HP-

As he made his way into the great hall for dinner, Harry thought about his day. He had battled a dragon, hurt Hermione, seen a scared gargoyle, bowed to a phoenix, saw a scared Snape, had another dumb conversation with the headmaster, and was now going to dinner, where he would definitely be the center of gossip. He was suddenly taller, stronger, smarter, calmer, and apparently more arrogant. By all rights, he should have been scared and confused, but now? Now he didn't really care. It was odd, but so many things that should have, and would have previously, bothered him, no longer mattered. Maybe this last life-and-death situation got to him, but if it did, he was glad it did. It was so… _freeing_ to not worry about what other people thought of him. He no longer feared Malfoy, or any other denizen of the snide snakes, ruthless ravens, banal badgers, or even the grumpy and grievous gryphons.

There was that bloody poetry thing again. He really needed to get a handle on that.

As expected, as he walked in through the doors of the great hall, all conversation just… stopped. He grinned as a horrible, terrible, fantastic idea struck him when he realized the Durmstrang and Beauxbaton students weren't there today. Time to put this new-found confidence to the test. This could be fun.

"Ladies and gentleman, thank you so much for making it here today. I am sorry for being tardy, but I must admit when I announced this meeting, I never expected such a turnout." He bellowed, making his way to the front of the hall. No-one moved. Every eye was on him, and every student frozen in shock. Yes, this could be very fun.

"I have no doubt that many of you are wondering what this meeting is about, as the information provided was rather scarce, and the time and place is rather… inconvenient. The answer is simple. I actually have several rather important topics to discuss with you."

As he was talking, he moved his wand subtly, casting a series of spells to set the stage. As he reached the dais at the front of the hall, the teachers table split in two, and Dumbledore's throne slid thought the gap until it was in the middle of the table. At the same time, the rather ugly lectern started sliding backwards and turning into a lower table. Piles of documents appeared in the hands of several people in the room, with cover letters explaining the prank and their part, and all of the assistants, much to his surprise, gained excited and cheerful expressions as they read. A few other people had letters delivered to them asking for their help with interactive 'yes/no' boxes that would alert Harry of their choice. Again, much to his utter shock, almost every one he asked agreed, with just one needed adjustment. This… was going to be epic.

"As many of you know, I was entered in the Tri-Wizard Tournament as a fourth competitor, causing no small concern over why a test of three people suddenly expanded to include four. As none of you are aware, our own DADA teacher, Retired Master Auror Alastor Moody has confirmed that an exceptionally powerful confundus was placed on the Goblet of Fire to make it accept a fourth competitor. A confundus so strong, in fact, that it would require an adult wizard of some considerable power to be able to pull it off, indeed, possibly several such wizards." At this point, Harry, who had taken the seat at the front of the room, looked over to the teacher, waiting for confirmation from the teacher. When the teacher responded in the (confused) affirmative, Harry moved on.

"At the same time as this was happening, my life put in peril for the fourth school year in a row, a rather large number of social changes occurred in the school, cumulating in two teachers and two students getting drunk and spending quite the day together, if the words of our two most notable pranksters and our revered poltergeist can be trusted, a rather bad day for me involving a dragon, and interpersonal problems effectively dissolving the legendary 'golden trio of Gryffindor', as an amicable split occurred between me and Ron Weasley, and Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger directly prior to the first task. No hard feelings between us, of course, but I must say that our study habits are so different as to make it so that we, alas, cannot be as close as before. All of this has led me believe, that we as a student body need to make some changes as far as out behavior as a school goes. I will now pause my speech, to ask our various teachers to provide their opinions on our current position as far as our lesson are concerned. To begin with, would the inestimable Professors Vector, Sinistra, and Hooch give us an overview of their classes."

The three very confused teachers did exactly that, with Harry carefully cross-examining each one, prying out hidden details and thoughts on progress. Given that two of the teachers were teaching basic subjects, and the other an elective, the individual opinions of the teachers matched up. Each said that, while there were very few who excelled. The general consensus was one of… adequacy. Harry grinned. This, was exactly what he was hoping for. The Marauders had had their day. Now, Harry Potter was going to prank Hogwarts in a way it would never recover from.

* * *

A.N. What do we have here? Sounds like something fun is brewing. What will Harry do, and will it really change Hogwarts History? I can't wait for the next chapter, but sadly, you will have to. Now, the real story begins.

Fic Rec for this chapter is _Harry Potter and the Hermetic Arts_, book one in the Harry Potter and the Gamer's Influence series by HaikenEdge. It is a little darker than some, but the plot is incredible, the story riveting, and HARRY ADOPTS A DRAGON! So, yeah, good story.

Also, I went back to try and change every Hemione to a Hermione. Sorry about that.


	5. Pranked Ya! Albus falls for it

**A.N.:** All right, let's see what Harry had up his sleeve. Brief note: Gryffindor=Gryphons, Ravenclaw=Ravens. The clue is in the name, people. Anywho, I am writing this on about three hours sleep, so I hope you like it. Fic rec will be Core Threads by theaceoffire. It isn't finished. Actually, it is 73 chapters and it just started year two, but it is a great story, if a but wordy, and is definitely worth a read. Also, if I typoed, please message me so I can fix it.

Ok, story:

_**Last time:** Harry carefully cross-examined each one, prying out hidden details and thoughts on progress. Given that two of the teachers were teaching basic subjects, and the other an elective, the individual opinions of the teachers matched up. Each said that, while there were very few who excelled. The general consensus was one of… adequacy. Harry grinned. This, was exactly what he was hoping for. The Marauders had had their day. Now, Harry Potter was going to prank Hogwarts in a way it would never recover from._

-HP—HP-

Harry had a hard time not laughing. Here he was, Mr. Dark-Lord-in-Training or Mr. Cheating-His-Way-into-a-Tournament, or Mr. He'll-be-Dead-by-Christmas, holding an impromptu staff meeting in the great hall with everyone attending, in front of the students, and everyone was playing along. It was HILARIOUS! As much as he was enjoying it, though, he felt like he was forgetting something, but as hard as he tried to remember, he couldn't remember what it was. Putting it aside as unimportant for the time being, he got back to business. The various other teachers were winding down with snide comments from Snape (who looked like he had been up all of last night with nightmares, even though he had looked fine earlier in the day) and a very nice, but mostly useless speech from Hagrid (he was still new, after all. It was his second year of teaching, for goodness sake!).

As Hagrid wound down, Harry brought the next piece into play. One of the most important parts of any successful prank, as Sirius had told him in a letter last summer, was the involvement of things that were thought safe, or were completely ignored, and nothing was as ignored or belittled as Argus Filch.

"Thank you, teachers for your perspectives. Next up, would Mr. Argus Filch come forward for questioning?"

For several minutes, the only sound throughout the entire hall was confused, disbelieving murmurs. Then, from a side door near the teachers table, and exceptionally nervous, suspicious, and surprisingly hopeful Argus Filch came out, and sat at the head table for the first time in memory.

"Mr. Filch, thank you for attending today. I know your invitation must have come as a surprise, as you are by far the most ignored and undervalued member of or staff. Now, I am aware that you hold rather… severe feelings of animosity towards many of the students here for various infractions you have caught that were ignored, pranks you have had to clean up after, messes you were made to take care of, damage to various parts of the castle you had to fix, constant heckling from the student body, insult from said students and even your peers, being taken for granted, and such…"

Here Harry paused, letting the students think about what a hard life Filch had. He was a bitter old man, to be sure, but he had good reason to be mad. Born a squib to a low-ranking dark family, being cast out from his family, being forced to work in a place where everyone but him could do magic, and being forced to clean up messes like a house-elf with no appreciation for his efforts was a very good reason to be bitter, and, if Harry could help it, he would soon have far fewer reasons to be like that. Oh, he didn't like Argus, at all, but he was willing to be cordial to him because of his position, and, due to many, many years under the Dursleys, he understood the man very well.

Having let the silence drag on for long enough, he started back up again. "… but that is beside the point. We already have a rather thorough account of the students from all of the teachers. What I would like from you, is and account of the castle. How is our maintenance? How clean is the castle? What areas need the most work, and how can we help?"

The speech that followed was long and tedious, very bitter, as well as rather alarming. Various safety features, such as cushioning charms at the bottom of stairs and the various towers were fraying, if still there at all. Various pluming features were leaking, and had been for years. There was a very real threat of a gas leak in the kitchens, and a possibility of potion fumes from Snape's lab getting mixed in to the gas that was used to cook the food due to a flaw in the lab's ventilation system (that made Snape get even paler). The list included whole wings that no-one had ever seen that hadn't been cleaned in centuries, sections of the castle in such a bad state that they weren't safe for anyone to enter, and even tales of a family of trolls in a hidden part of the dungeon. It was horrifying to Harry to here this list, and even more horrifying that only a handful of Muggleborns and Halfbloods seemed to care. After the report was complete, Harry let silence reign for half a minute, gathering himself for the next bit. This was the hard sell, the do-or-die moment. Pulling a staff meeting out of thin air was one thing, but encouraging thorough changes in Hogwarts life? That would take some work.

Harry took a deep breath, and stood up. "This, is what I wanted to bring to your attention, teachers and students of Hogwarts. Throughout every description of classes, all of the considerations of students, and that rather horrifying description of our castle, I noticed one common theme. Adequacy. Every teacher had a few exemplary students, but most of the classes were full of mediocrity! We are supposed to be the foremost magical institution in all of Europe, but the other schools laugh us to scorn, and rightly so! Beauxbaton may not be as far as we are academically (though they aren't far behind), but their castle and grounds far surpass ours! That is unacceptable. And Durmstrang! The castle they attend may be as ugly as hell itself, but if the students who attend that institution get below an EE on ANY year's test, not just OWLs or NEWTS, the student is stripped of their magic, obliviated of all knowledge of the magical world, and is expulsed! As such, their academics FAR surpass ours! Not that I think we should take up their policies. No! That would be coping them. We need a way to be better than them. That is why we are here."

"At each of your tables, student helpers of mine are handing out pamphlets with various ideas I have had for clubs, systems, and projects we, as students, can help the teachers with. These clubs will have minimal teacher oversite, no required attendance, and open enrolment as long as you fit the criterium they have, As each club is named and explained, I will be inviting the student or students in charge of them to come up and, after I explain the groundwork, they will explain the basics of what they hope to perform. One more time to be clear, besides any criterium that the clubs themselves have, I am not forcing you to join these clubs, the teachers are not a part of these clubs without invitation, and the only student who will HAVE to be at any of these clubs is me!"

"Now, first up from Ravenclaw, we have Luna Lovegood for 'Club for the Pursuit of the Unknown', or CPU. This club will be primarily dedicated to the science of magical research of limits, namely, can something be done, and why or why not. Can a first year really not cast a Patronus? Are Phoenixes really immortal? Do leprechauns actually conjure gold? These questions will be the basis of this club. Now, for the most part, the club won't be pursuing groundbreaking research, but sometimes they will come across interesting things. Take me for example. At eighteen months old, I survived a killing curse. That is impossible. How did that happen? Other than these mysteries, they will mostly be focused on developing rule systems to study, analysis, and categorize magic, as well as finding out what really is, or is not, possible. This club will hopefully provide us a groundwork on which to build all other studies. Luna, if you please."

Luna Lovegood stood up. Having her go first was a major gamble on Harry's part, but he knew that it was his best choice. All of the other club leaders were not as strong as she was, nor as glib. Harry just hoped the brilliant Luna would be talking a bit more than the eccentric Looney.

"I talk of Nargles, Blibbering Humdingers, and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, and often get mocked for it. I speak of the Heliophants, and Wrackspurts, and many other things that people mock. But what am I actually talking about? I need a volunteer to tell me what a Nargle, a Blibbering Humdinger, and a Wrackspurts is, respectively."

She paused, waiting. After several minutes, Hermione drew a deep breath, stood up, and answered. "Nargles are like small, nearly invisible bees that won't leave you be and steal your stuff. A Blibbering Humdinger makes nattering sounds that drown out useful thought and productive conversation, and a Wrackspurt is a type of creature that avoids conflict of any kind."

Luna smiled a dreamy smile as Hermione sat down. "Yes, all true. Just one more question. What ARE they?"

Hermione blinked, as did almost everyone. Everyone, that is, except for Luna and Harry. After several minutes of Hermione stuttering, she got it.

"I don't know."

Everyone was silent. No-one except for the two students at the front of the room knew. Finally, Luna gave a huge grin and gestured to Harry. He stood up, coughed lightly, looked around, and said one word.

"People."

Silence reigned for several minutes as no-one got it. Finally, with a sigh, Harry expounded. "Nargles are bullies who are continually annoying, like small, nearly invisible bees that won't leave you be. They also have a bad habit of stealing your stuff. A Blibbering Humdinger is simply a gossip, wasting good time with worthless speech. As for the Wrackspurts, they are the cowards of this school who are to weak-willed to do anything to help those in need, such as I was once upon a time to Luna Lovegood, but no longer. Of all the creatures she mentioned here today, the only one that is actually a mythical creature is the Heliophant, and exceptionally powerful form of rare, Micronesian light elemental. As for dear Ms. Lovegood's worldwide pursuit of the legendary Crumple-Horned Snorkack, well, it would be easier to say she just wants a friend."

A deep, ashamed silence reigned over the room for almost two minutes as people realized what this meant, particularly at the Ravenclaw table where the bullies and gossips sat. Years of insults and abuse, heaped on a girl for liberal use of allegory, and that whole time, she had been doing nothing more than DESCRIBING that abuse. Finally, Luna let them off the hook by continuing.

"Harry Potter did not ask me about this. He figured it out himself. Of all of the people here, he is the only one who listened well enough to get what I was saying. More embarrassingly still, no-one ASKED!" She shouted the last word, making everyone flinch. She giggled.

"Oh, good, you are still listening." Harry and a few others chuckled at the joke, but it didn't really make any of them feel better. Harry himself had taken two years to figure out this lonely girl's code, when it could have been solved in a ten-sentence conversation. He knew he would have to make it up to her, but for now, he let his attention come back to the conversation at hand.

"No-one asked, because everyone knew. They knew I was 'Looney', to pun a bit, so why ask about the crazy animals I 'saw'. This is the point of the club I am a part of. We will ask ALL the question to find ALL the answers. Then, we will share these answers with others. That is all."

As she skipped back to her seat, silence reigned. At the Ravenclaw table, shame was in abundance. The house of the wise had missed out on one of its students, and a bright one, if her goals were any indication, because they didn't take the time to find the answers. This, alone, meant that the population of CPU would skyrocket.

Harry had intended Nevil Longbottom to be next, but after that performance, he bumped him down one slot so the Weasley twins could go next. Luna's speech had left a bad taste in most mouths, particularly her head of house, so the Twin Terrors of Gryffindor would make a good encore to get everyone back into the needed headspace. After all, it didn't count as a good prank unless everyone was laughing.

"Right, then. The next club will be the Society of Mirth, Ingenuity, and Legality to the point of Excellence. This club is a loose-knit collection of inventors and salesmen with the express purpose of creating and propagating art for its own sake, while not abandoning functionality. In short, fun, pretty thing that still have value. To spearhead this group, we have Misters Gred and Forge Weasilby."

The applause was still rather muted, but it managed to be riotous as well. The Pranksters of Hogwarts were beloved by all, as long as you were out of the spotlight of the pranks. As was to be expected, they performed with aplomb and humor, showcasing several products and items of their own creation, as well as a few anecdotes about their past failures, including things like Boneless Buns, Full-Deck Exploding Snap (all of the crates blew up) and a few more. Then, oddly enough (for them) they got serious for a few minutes. The effect was somewhat enhanced by the fact that they started speaking in stereo.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we don't want you to get the wrong idea. We do love fun gadgets and interesting pranks, but there is another side you need to consider. We, as inventors, have been studying, researching, and even creating potions, spells, and enchantments for many years to get to the level of success we have today. We are skilled potion masters, trained under the care of Professor Snape himself, to whom we owe much gratitude…" They bowed to the man, bringing shock from much of the student body. The Weasley twins, showing respect to a teacher, and a snake? It was unbelievable.

George spoke by himself next. "But for spell creation, we learned that on our own, and had many near misses, many near-death experiences in the process. We joke about the more humorous mistakes, but there have been many, many dangerous encounters and dead lab animals that we are frankly to serious about to even bring up. Without proper care, both of us would be dead."

Fred piped up. "Not that we want to discourage any of you. On the contrary. That is why this club exists. Let's say that an experiment has a one-hundred-percent chance to kill you if you try it, and each additional person up to ten ads another five percent risk. Each person after ten ads another forty percent. If four people do the experiment, there is only a thirty percent chance of death per person. If ten people do it, the chance drops to fifteen percent risk each. Thus, an experiment that would kill any one person, is relatively safe when done by ten."

"That is the point of this club. Support, sharing, and assistance. No one person needs to take the risk by themselves. Add in the speed we can gain, and the information we can trade, and things get even better." George pointed out.

"Think of us like a guild hall." Fred expounded "Each product will have to pass certain safety test, in exchange for a magical seal of approval. The seal tells your customers that the product is safe and usable without any threat to them, boosting sales. In exchange, you only need to pay for whatever tests are necessary, instead of paying guild dues. Low cost, and a large boost to revenue."

George spoke back up. "Anyone can join for free, and we have a system where the costs for the tests can be rated out, knuts on the galleon, over the course of the first full year of sale, so no money is required up front. No necessary payment plan, either, as long as it is payed out by the end of the year, and at minimal interest, too. We also freely keep all necessary patents in four separate locations, at least, to prevent thievery, and they are all magically backed up."

Fred chimed back in. "After one full year of membership, or three completed patents, you automatically get entered in the guild roll, meaning you are recognized as a full member. That means at-cost access to materials, lab spaces, and even storage. At this point, you can become an inventor, specializing in designing new things, a salesman, spreading others products, a tester, verifying other people's inventions, or an investor, throwing your money behind others projects. All deals can be moderated and supervised by the guild, but they don't have to be. The choice is yours."

"Donations are NOT welcome, as most of the revenue is produced by certification, that is, rating people's skill, inventions, or knowledge based on levels. This is also optional, though it does boost sales and attention. The remaining money is produced through brokerage, particularly of unused ingredients, scrap material, or sales space." George concluded.

Fred then explained how they would use an ignored section of Hogwarts as the 'school location' until they could find permanent residence, then he and George came together to finish in harmony.

"We, like many of you, have ideas, dreams, and plans that may never see the light of day. With effort, we can come together and bring these ideas into reality, so that we can do our business with a SMILE!"

As they reached the end, they did a stage bow as fireworks went off behind them, forming into a giant yellow smiley face. The whole hall, teachers included, burst into applause, and much cheering was heard throughout the big room. Harry smiled in joy. This was the type of prank he loved. Beneficial to all, and funny to him. After all, who wouldn't laugh at the site of Minerva 'Fire-Breather' McGonigal clapping for the two troublesome lions with tears in her eyes. And Snape applauding while choking on a sneer? Priceless. This was going to be a fun meeting.

-HP—HP-

Compared to the Weasley's production, the announcement of deportment and culture classes from Nevil were quietly received, though many seemed interested. The Hufflepuffs announcing the building of an inter-house 'speakeasy' under Ernie MacMillan was well-received, as was the planned Ravenclaw-sponsored study spaces and tutoring aids. The offering of Pureblood politics classes under Daphne Greengrass was a large shock, but the strategy sessions under both Draco Malfoy (business planning and bureaucracy) and Ronald Weasley (chess) nearly caused a riot. Thankfully, though they met in the same place and at the same hour, the days were flipped so it went on day Draco, one day Ron, so as not to cause any problems, with Harry taking Fridays to cinch the two forms of strategies together. All in all, though it meant that Harry would be VERY busy, he knew that this would bring Hogwarts out of the dark ages, and into the light.

He flinched. That was poetic, a horrible hyperbole, and a bad pun, all at once! Seriously, he had to stop doing that.

Anyway, as the meeting started to wind down, as it was nearing curfew, the coup de gras was performed. Harry was delivering a speech about hope and unity, and the best wizarding school, or whatever, when the doors to the great hall opened and Dumbledore walked in. He had been looking for the other teachers for some time now, as he had a rather important staff meeting to hold about the Tri-Wizard Tournament and spying on/controlling Harry in case he was using dark magic to win, and had been confused when no-one had showed up. After several hours of searching various offices and apartments, even going so far as to go to Hagrid's hut to make sure they weren't there, he had finally made it to the great hall, not really expecting to find them, as they had no reason to be there. Imagine his surprise, then, when, not only were the teachers there, and all the students, but they seemed to be having some sort of meeting with HARRY POTTER in charge, AND THE BOY WAS SITTING IN HIS CHAIR! As soon as he walked in, silence reigned.

Harry froze as Dumbledore walked in. This was bad. Of all the people here, the only one who could blow this whole thing wide open was Dumbledore. He had to find a way to make sure that didn't happen. People had to believe that the headmaster had set this up, or it would all fall through, and Nevil and Luna would be alone again, not to mention the inter-house rivalry. Plus, Filch and Snape were just starting to look half-way pleasant. He steeled his nerves. He wouldn't let these people down. He needed people to believe he had permission to do this. After two beats of thought, he had it. A smile crept across his face, and he thanked Fate and Fortune for this opportunity. After all, he wasn't the only one with a reputation to uphold here.

Harry glanced up at the headmaster in panic, then down at an imaginary watch. With a soft curse, he spoke up.

"Headmaster, I am soooo sorry! I promised I wouldn't keep the kids out late or mess up your meeting this evening, and here I've done both. Kids, I'm afraid this is the end of the meeting. Don't forget to speak to the various leaders to state and interest in any of the things we talked about, and make sure to hurry off to bed. We have less than ten minutes until curfew, so, a round of applause for the teaching staff for their help in setting this up, the house-elves for the food, and a HUGE hand to or headmaster, for his help and guidance in this matter."

In seconds, the whole student body was on their feet, each House trying to outdo the others. The snakes were clapping politely, but they kept on going for a good five minutes, the Gryffindors were by far the loudest, the ravens were more intelligent, clapping in time to make it seem louder, while the badgers seemed the most heart-felt. All in all, it made it perfect so that no-one could talk to the teachers or headmaster without being out of bed late, making it so no-one could confirm or deny the teachers' involvement, and with a little care, Harry slipped right to the middle of the Gryphons, so no-one could see him or single him out on the way out. The whole group was chattering excitedly and planning on which of the clubs they would be signing up for, and the best part was the 'shocked speechless' look on Dumbledore's face.

Harry smirked to himself as he made his way to bed. Mischief managed, indeed.


	6. Odd Awakening and Problems

A.N. Yo, guys. Sorry this chapter took so long. It was really hard to write, and even now, I don't care for how it turned out. Here is hoping the next one is better. Also, I have decided that this story will have five books. Whether they are separate or together is TBD, but there will be five distinct arcs: year four (Dragonborn), year four summer (Fae-Struck), year five (Demon Touched), year six (Angel-Blessed), and year seven (IDK). Hope ya'll are ready for the ride, 'cause it's gonna be a fun one.

  
  


I also have several other stories, so please read and review

  
  


REVIEW PLEASE! I NEED REVIEW TO EAT!!!

  
  


Rec at bottom.

  
  


  
  


Seers, oracles, and Prophets/Prophetesses

How to tell the Fake from the Real by Wally B. Treensey

Excerpts from Chapter Three: The Names in the Game

  
  


… Many believe that the titles: Oracle, Seer, and prophet/prophetess; are synonymous. This couldn't be FURTHER from the truth. They, in fact classify three totally different classes…

  
  


An oracle is easy, they have the unique ability to catch glimpses of the Loom of Fate, the great device that tells us the most likely outcomes of many things. These include impending disasters, diseases, a rock in your path, our how your old shoelaces will soon snap. Sadly, due to the fact that humans are stubborn and refuse to recognize that Fate, or luck, CAN affect them, the Loom cannot predict the actions of people, just natural things. Also, the closer a person gets to the Loom, the more likely people are to disbelieve them. This is generally NOT intentional; rather, it is a reaction of the animal part of the brain. It is also believed that a curse or some sort of aversion field boosts this, but, as we naturally find ourselves desiring to distance ourselves from it, it is next to impossible to tell. That being said, I personally believe that people need no help to ignore obvious signs and warnings.

  
  


It is also important to note that almost every woman alive has some connection to the Loom, leading to what is commonly called 'woman's intuition'. This is not, in fact, appropriate viewing of the future, as the intuition is based off of what could happen, not off of what will, but still, I find that is it wise to mind when a woman warns me all the same…

  
  


…A prophet, however, is a far touchier subject, as a prophet CANNOT exist without a god, or, more to the point, a One True God. You see, a prophet specifically is an intermediary between a higher power and its domain, with the sole purpose of bearing a message, usually of warning, in the form of an if/then statement. The most majority of the clearest examples of this type exist in the Christian Bible. One such example is the story of Jonah.

  
  


In the Bible, Jonah, a prophet of the Jewish God Yahweh, is sent to Israel's ancient enemies, the Ninevites. Up until this point, the two people's most civil interactions involved swift decapitation, so it seemed that this God was, in fact, exceeding his domain and encroaching on the god of the Ninevites, but, in Jewish belief, Yahweh created everything and everyone, and thus, even though the Ninevites worshiped someone else, Yahweh technically had precedence.

  
  


Upon his arrival (after the famous encounter with the great fish), Jonah delivers his message from God: Repent of your sins, or die; a simple, if not rather harsh message. As it turns out, however, this message ended in the revitalization of Nineveh. The Ninevites, in sorrow and fear, repented of their sins, those of violence, greed, sexual deviancy, and warmongering.

  
  


Now, I am entirely going to ignore ninety percent of the theology of this encounter, and focus on the prophecies. First, and if/then statement (If you do not repent, you will die); next, the delivery of doctrine; namely, murder, sexual deviancy and other such things are wrong. One question that always comes up at this point is: 'is it really so bad to sleep around?' or 'so what if they kill their enemies to expand their empire?'. This BORDERS on theology, but it is essential for understanding the role, and existence, of prophets.

  
  


To put it simply, it really is that bad. Extra-marital sexual activity breeds diseases, weakens the nucleus family that is the foundation of so many grand and successful cultures (see Rome and England, both of who's empires broke down shortly after the rejection of the family model that they had been built own. After all, remove the foundation, the building crumbles; remove the keystone, and the arch falls.) and encourages poverty, violent crime, and vice (a fatherless child is 65% more likely to commit a violent crime, typically has a decrease of approximate 35% or more of average earning, and are 75% more likely, at least measure, to fall into drugs or alcoholism). That is to say, the doctrine is true. This is a MUST for a true prophet. After all, what good is a prophet that lies or encourages weakening behaviors?

  
  


The if/then statement, according to Jewish lore, is also possible. The destruction was promised in the form of fire and brimstone from heaven, an act that, according to their traditions, had once been rained on Sodom and Gamora. Thus, the threat had teeth. It is also important to note that it is at this point that the One True God bit steps in. For example, if London should move against Paris, and the gods of both cities, through their prophets were to testify to the victory of their city, who would win would boil down to which god made their prophecy come true best. As such, you cannot consider it a TRUE prophecy, unless the God making it has ABSOLUTE power, else it is a guess, not a prophecy…

  
  


…Most interestingly, however, was the fact that the man didn't matter. Upon delivering the message, Jonah still expected the destruction, regardless of the fact that the city repented. He fled God, tried to avoid his duty, and failed multiple times to realize that God actually intended to save Nineveh. As such, the prophet himself is of little importance, as long as the doctrine is true, the message accurate and in the form of an If/Then, and the god, or God, is actually capable of carrying it out, and is operating in his sphere of influence. After all, at one point in the Bible, Yahweh uses Balaam's (a famous prophet of the time) DONKEY to prophecy to the prophet…

  
  


…Now we get to the touchy subject; namely, the Seer. The largest problem with the seer is that this category automatically contains the most mystical, the most mundane, the most useless, the most useful, and the craziest of all the categories. How, you ask? Because there are many different types of seer.

  
  


The first, and most outlandish, of the seers, is the mystic. These people, be they young or old, male or female, automatically, or sometimes through great distress, are gifted the ability to see that which others cannot. In short, they are either accessing a higher plain of being, or hallucinating. Thus, the issue, how can you know which is which?

  
  


You can't.

  
  


Unfortunately, as these people see things others literally CAN'T see, we can't tell if they are enlightened, or insane. In either case, it is folly to ignore them, as they may be telling the truth, and it is folly to believe them, as they may not be telling the truth.

  
  


Alas, on this subject, there is no solid answer.

  
  


Next, however, we have the interesting ones, or the 'next-minutes'. These people can see what is going to happen in the future as if they are there. The only thing blocking them, is whatever their personal issue is. Some can see things like a chain of dominoes, others can see certain distances into the future, and still other can see things that will happen on specific dates, or to certain people. One of the easiest to test, this group also contains the highest number of frauds, as a reasonably smart person can both fake the power and come up with an irrational 'flaw' that makes them capable of predicting and/or failing to predict at any time. As such, I often get asked how a person is supposed to tell the fakes from the reals.

  
  


To be honest, I don't bother. Any time some tells me the future, I file it away, plan accordingly, and then ignore it. there is no use freaking out over that which cannot be stopped, and no value in ignoring free advice. Of course, you must always judge the cure to see if it is worth dodging the disease, but other than that, it pays to take precautions.

  
  


The final type of diviner is the trickiest, as it is the ONLY one that you cannot block completely. It is also the strongest, and, ironically, the only one that is not mystical in the least. It is, in fact, the Brain.

  
  


This type of seer, for lack of a better term, SEES things, then plans accordingly. There are many different types of such, but they all boil down to the same thing. Smart people, doing smart things. There is no defense against a wise man's precautions, nor is there a way to fight off a genius's intellect. Though there is no magic needed for their art, these are by far the trickiest, the most powerful and the most unavoidable of the seers. Beware of them, and curry their favor! No matter how odd they can be, it is better to have a sword in your hand, than in your back!

  
  


  
  


Thunder crashed as the storm gained ferocity, the quiet affecting everyone an making them nervous. At the heart of the volcano, he nestled deeper in his bed of snow, enjoying the clinking sound the coins and gems made. He didn't fear the people who were coming, even though he ran from them every time with his heart racing. They weren't virgins, so his glare would be their death. His fiery breath made them all see their greatest nightmares, and he fed of the happiness and joy he caused. He would kill THEM ALL, and heal them so they knew there was hope. He breathed in the smell of the deep waters, inhaling earth like the two-legs inhaled air. And why shouldn't he? Any creature with more legs than two was weird, anyway, and his wings stirred the water quite nicely, making it easier for him to walk across the uneven ground, hundreds of claws clicking in unison. He was all alone atop a tree in the middle of a plane, and the horde of beasts below him on the mountainside knew he was their evil dictator, who would kill them as he pleased, not caring about them at all. And yet, deep in the tunnels where they dwelled, where sunlight never reached, he loved them as a father, caring for them always. The knight had come to slay him, and he gave him orders and magic to do the deed, and just as the blade flashed up…

  
  


…Harry jerked awake, heart pounding as his head snapped back and forth, searching his room for threats. After a minute, his heartbeat calmed as the dream came back to him. That was the most illogical dream he had ever had in his life! Most dreams you have trouble remembering because they aren't vivid enough, more like vague impressions than actual vision and sound, but in this case, everything he had seen (remarkably vividly) made no sense! Shaking his head, he passed it off as adrenaline left over from the meeting last night. No, from the PRANK last night, he thought with a grin and a chuckle as he got out of bed. He looked out of the window of his room just in time to see the sun… nowhere. It was before dawn, and if the stars and moon were any indication, it wouldn't be dawn for several hours.

  
  


Groaning slightly to himself in protest the early hour and the coldness of a Scottish castle in November as he stretched, he realized that he really wasn't sleepy, which was odd. Yesterday, he had faced a dragon, gotten barbequed, gotten interrogated, revolutionized the school, and had to sneak through a victory party that was going on in the common room before he could get to bed (an exhausting day, even with the 'nap' the dragon gave him), yet, today, he felt… downright chipper. As he was pretty much the OPPOSITE of a morning person on a normal day, he found this… disconcerting, but he chalked it up to another side-effect of a near-death encounter. Well, nearer death than normal, anyway. And considering his track record, that was saying something.

  
  


He made his way out of the dorm to the empty, and rather messy, common room and groaned in annoyance. Sure, he could see the Griffs wanting to party after the first task (even if they really didn't make any mention of him, as they still saw him as a cheater) and sure, he could see exuberance on their part after the 'staff meeting' of last night, but Nevil was sleeping in the goddamned chandelier, for goodness sakes!!!

  
  


He sighed and started tidying up a bit. Yeah, the house-elves could do it better, but even he wasn't willing to make them clean up the tower of one-hundred and fifty-one butterbeer bottles on the central coffee table, and the potatoes-and-gravy swamp that was swallowing the chairs in the corner, and the crisp-growing bookshelves along the walls, and… well, at least he could say the Twins were as creative with snack food as they were with pranks.

  
  


Three more odd things happened during his clean-up, though he only noticed two of them. The first odd thing, and the one he missed, was the fact that, with a swipe of his hand, spells that were meant to be permanent shattered. The bookcases that were empty and covered in crisps (they had been empty for decades, though the crisps were relatively new) stopped spreading spuds, and sprouted scrolls and scribble-scrawled (dang it, what is an s-word for book. Eh, whatever) books that had been 'missing' for ages. Harry left the swamp for the house-elves, but when he bumped into it, it stopped bubbling and growing, and started to creep across the floor as the enchantment that helped keep it in place failed.

  
  


The second thing, and the first thing he (he almost literally jumped for joy) was that he STOPPED being so DAMN POETIC!!! He was favoring alliteration more than a sanctimonious and servile savior schoolboy should, but the repulsive and redundant rhyming and strident and souring similes were removed and reduced to subtle sneaking squeaks in the back of his mildly mildewed, but massive mind. That had PHYSICALLY hurt to come up with, but there wasn't a damned OUNCE OF POETRY IN IT! He was so happy about that, the third thing barely bothered him.

  
  


He sneezed a fireball.

  
  


It happened as he was working out how to deconstruct the Butterbeer-Bottle Bastion on the table, but when he brushed against it, it had bumped a chandelier that hadn't be dusted in a while, sending a shower of said dust into his face. The result was… surprising. The sneeze hadn't been that unusual, but when his sneeze ignited the GLASS tower and it BURNED to the (thankfully fireproof) tabletop, he was just the teensiest bit shocked.

  
  


Then… he shrugged it off.

  
  


I mean, really, with his life, sneezing fireballs was rather low on his list of priorities.

  
  


At this point, besides clutter, Nevil, and the mashed potatoes, the room was rather clean, so he decided it was time to make his way down to the kitchen, as breakfast wouldn't be served in the Great Hall for another two hours, and he didn't want to go back there anyway. If he had remembered last night the number of *shudder* people that gathered there at ANY mealtime, he wouldn't have gone. It's not that he didn't like people, per say… Yeah, no, any time there were more than two people without a definite purpose around him, bad things happened. He didn't like people. He liked INDIVIDUALS, but groups sucked.

  
  


He also wasn't sure how he knew where the kitchens were, but he did. Again, he shrugged. He didn't know, and, really, he didn't care.

  
  


  
  


House-elves were weird.

  
  


He had known this since his first meeting with Dobby two (and a little bit) years ago, but his trips to the kitchen just confirmed it in ways he hardly expected. Did he expect the house-elves to look somewhat odd? Of course! Did he expect them to fall all over each other trying to serve him? Naturally! Did he expect them to BOW DOWN AND WORSHIP HIM?!?!? Good Lord, no! If that kept up, he would brave the Great Hall!

  
  


Still completely put out by their behavior, but with breakfast in hand, he made his way to a quiet, and really pleasant, breakfast nook he (somehow) knew was hidden on the seventh floor. Weird elves aside, the room was large and sunshiny, and his breakfast was high in medium-rare meats, just as he liked it. Bacon, pork steak, several kinds of sausage, beefsteak, and even a VERY tasty slice of some kind of large snake that, somehow, seemed familiar, all topped off with a pot of fresh coffee eaten while reading an ancient Celtic book on god-myths that had been waiting for him on the table was just what the proverbial doctor ordered.

  
  


Smiling to himself as he made his way downstairs, his day, unfortunately, took its first turn for the worse, in the form of a quick trip… down three flights of stairs.

  
  


Harry woke up in the infirmary. He was on the floor in the infirmary, which, in his opinion, was a welcome change to the horrifying beds that were his alternative, but he hated being back here AT ALL! Worse still was the fact that his face, chest, and head were COVERED in bruises. He got up with a groan, and there, in front of him, sitting on the side table of what could only be called HIS bed, was the bloody golden egg, problem number two for the day. He sighed as he picked it up, casting a glare in its direction. He REALLY didn't want it. AT ALL. Still, he couldn't leave it lying around for Mme. Pomphrey to take care of. That just wouldn't be polite! He'd find something to do with it.

  
  


Alas, the egg brought about distraction, which lead to his third downfall of what would be a horrible morning. He let his feet lead him, and lead him they did… right into the Great Hall around breakfast time. Now, truth be told, no-one could really be thought to be at fault for what happened next, but the circumstances were quite damning. Harry Potter, the FAMOUS Harry Potter, made his way to the site of his last great victory, The Grand Staff Meeting, carrying an item that he got through unknown means while facing a dragon, in a tournament that no-one wanted him to be participating in, all after a bad night's sleep for most of the occupants of the castle, either due to partying or repercussions of the aforementioned meeting. It was just bad luck that made it so, but still, it was a recipe for disaster, and disaster is what Harry got.

  
  


It started out as grumblings as he took his seat. No-one seemed willing to do anything, but several people were clearly upset, and the Golden Eyesore sitting on the table next to Harry wasn't helping. The muttering became rumbling, which became gossiping and barely-heard insults. Naturally, Harry ignored them (he was quite used to them by now, since it began second year), but they didn't go away. Finally, Terrance Boot from Ravenclaw decided to 'do a Malfoy' about it.

  
  


"Would you look at that, it's the famous Harry Potter. You know, I was just talking to a few girls the other day, and they were complaining about your… performance. You know, how you blew it. They said they felt like you were a bit of a burnout, especially given how you went to sleep in the middle of it. I wouldn't think that the famous Harry Potter would have such performance issues like that."

  
  


When the boy had started talking, Harry had been incensed. Couldn't he just let him alone? But the more the 'claw talked, the funnier Harry thought it. This boy thought he could play with fire, he would get burned.

  
  


"I would never try and compare my performance to a woman's, Boot, they tend to be able to either outlast any guy they meet, or make it so that the man does whatever they say to bring a repeat performance. And since when were you so interested in my… performances? I hope you weren't angling for private lessons? Those only go to special women. Men tend to be a little too… thick for my liking."

  
  


Terry had gone a LOVELY shade of what Harry assumed was puce (I mean, who even knows what puce looks like?), and everyone around Harry seemed very confused. Since when did Harry Potter make witty retorts so glibly. Where was the angst, the drama? Sure, the nature of the exchange was totally different due to the fact that it wasn't Malfoy's usual taunts, but Harry was never this… prepared.

  
  


Then things got weirder when a Slytherin sat one seat down form Harry on the other side of the table.

  
  


"Hey, Potter."

  
  


"Hey, Malfoy."

  
  


Pandemonium ensued. Snape looked like someone had beat his favorite puppy with his favorite book; Ron Weasley, who up to this point had only been focused on food, turned a rather odd shade of green; Dumbledore was shocked speechless; and Hermione looked ready to punch someone.

  
  


"Harry," Hermione began, "Is that Draco Malfoy?"

  
  


"Yes, Hermione."

  
  


"The same Draco Malfoy that normally greets me as 'mudblood'?"

  
  


"That's the one."

  
  


"And you just greeted him in a vaguely chummy manner?!?"

  
  


"Vaguely, though I would say it was more of a 'tolerant' manner. We… coexist. He is a ponce, I am a martyr. Neither of us understand the other's methods, but we both come from the same place, so we… live and let live, I guess. Don't worry, we aren't friends, just… two rocks in the same river."

  
  


Draco, who up to this point had just been preparing a small breakfast for himself and was in the middle of a drink of milk, choked. As the coughing subsided, the laughing and stammering filled in. "We… we're WHAT?" he gasped out.

  
  


Harry cringed. "Turns out that side effects of Dragon Fire include being poetic, obsessing over alliteration, and philosophizing. Can't seem to lose the last two, though thank GOD the poetry stopped. Not sure if my reputation, such as it is, could take a hit like that."

  
  


Malfoy was still laughing, but he seemed collected enough to talk. "It would boost your teen girl fanclub." He offered, "But you would have to go… GOTH." Unable to contain himself, he went back to laughing.

  
  


"Yes, yes. Make fun of the guy without brain damage. Whatever. See if I care, Malfoy."

  
  


After several more minutes of laughter from Malfoy, grumbling from Harry, and flabbergasted…ness? from the rest of the hall, Draco finally calmed down.

  
  


"Sorry about that, that was too funny. I did want to apologize to you, Hermione. I was rather cruel to you for no good reason. It's not that I like you now, you know; in fact, I rather think you are a bit of a know-it-all, though you did have some talent to back it up. The problem is that you tend to make people feel inferior so that you can feel better about yourself, and I didn't like that. So, in a moment of blistering brilliance, I made you feel inferior so that I could feel better about myself.

I am not saying I am wrong about you as a person, mind, but I am saying that I could have, should have, and will in the future handle all instances the situation better. I also wanted to apologize to you (and I apologized to Hagrid earlier) about the whole Buckbeak thing last year. I started trying to show off, then got embarrassed, and by the time I realized what was happening, my father was using it as a political maneuver. I wanted to call it off, that's what I was doing as I was going to Hagrid's hut that day, but then you showed up and I had to double down or admit I was wrong in front of my childish rival."

  
  


"Childhood rival, Draco." Harry interjected.

  
  


"My childish rival." The blonde repeated with a smirk.

  
  


Harry muttered "Ponce." under his breath, making Draco's smile widen before he got serious again.

  
  


"Still, my actions are wrong, and I wanted to apologize. I also have to say, that as much as I hate it, that was an incredible punch. I actually was so upset about it that I forced my mother to let me sneak into muggle London to take self-defense courses so I can avoid getting punched in the face again, which is something NO 'honorable' pureblood has done in like, two hundred years. Then… I discovered McDonalds. It is AMAZING, and it got me thinking. If muggles can make things like that, are they really that bad? Then…" He paused long enough that they though he was done, but he was just thinking of what to say next. He finally continued, though his words were rather subdued. "I discovered guns. I never want to run afoul of a gun. Pistols were bad, rifles were worse, but the shotguns?" He shuddered. "They are scarier than ANY dark lord. I will never start aggression against a muggle. They might not have magic, but they can defend themselves QUITE well!

Anyway, I just wanted to say that I am sorry for being such a blunt dick. Yes, I still feel a few pins to your ego wouldn't have hurt, but I was approaching a piercing-hex situation with a bombarda, which was very un-Slytherin of me, and I'm sorry. Still, you should work on that ego of yours. Like mine for me, yours won't do you any favors."

  
  


Hermione, shocked to the core, blinked, stammered, and blinked some more, until Harry reached over and bopped her on the head. That didn't work so well.

  
  


The next several minutes were spent desperately attempting to revive the unconscious Hermione as Harry freaked out, and Draco sat there unconcerned and chuckling. Still, she woke up after a few minutes, none the worse for wear.

  
  


"HARRY!" she exclaimed when she saw him, "I just had the weirdest dream! You got barbequed by a dragon, and Malfoy apologized. It was SO WEIRD!"

  
  


"Em, Hermione?"

  
  


"Yes, Harry?"

  
  


Harry made a spinning motion with his hand, and, after a minute, Hermione got the idea and turned around. There was Malfoy. He was… kind of blushing? He at least looked uncomfortable. He was also sitting at the Gryffindor table, like in her dream. Wearing the same clothes, too.

  
  


"Oh, bloody hell, that actually happened!"

  
  


Harry gaped at her. Hermione cursing? Could this week get any weirder?

  
  


After several more minutes of stammering, muttering, blushing, and general awkwardness, Harry decided to change the subject. "So, Draco, what martial art are you learning?"

  
  


Draco got a 'guess' grin on his face, and about twenty seconds later, Harry groaned and facepalmed. "Please tell me I am wrong. Not even you would be that wrong!"

  
  


Draco grinned wider. "What other martial art would I choose? I am a Slytherin after all!"

  
  


Hermione, and almost everyone else at the table, looked completely lost, but no-one was willing to ask. After several minutes of Draco snickering while Harry gently banged his head against the table, Hermione broke.

  
  


"What? What is it?"

  
  


"He is learning shéquán, Hermione."

  
  


That didn't clear it up for anyone, though it did set Draco to laughing harder.

  
  


"Shéquán is a 'soft' Chinese martial art from the Shaolin Boxing family, particularly learned to aid in the use of the Chinese straight sword. It specializes in teaching a person how to twine their way around an opponent's guard to strike from unusual angles, a good choice for a witch or wizard as it relies on skilled finger and wrist motions, as well as quick reflexes and an ability to spot gaps in an enemy's defenses. It also roughly translates to 'snake-fist' or, in English parlance, Snake-Boxing."

  
  


With the faint sound of a 'ba-dum--tis' in the background, the whole table, and the readers, all groaned.

  
  


  
  


Things didn't get any better by lunch.

  
  


Trelawney was drunk, and kept taking swigs throughout her whole lesson. Ironically, she always seemed to do so when she caught a glimpse of Harry. This fact, coupled with the fact that she DIDN'T make a death prediction at him, scared him more than any other class he had been in with her; so much so, in fact, that he decided that he was done with divination. A wooly subject, it may be, but something about the teacher was… concerning to him, and he had had ENOUGH. He could have, of course, chosen any other subject to take, but he really felt that he would be better served with an extra free study period to help get his duck in a row. He wasn't sure what he was going to use it for, but he needed… something. Flying had been his solace for the last three years, but to be honest, Quidditch had kind of ruined that for him. Books certainly didn't help him relax, even though he had found several interesting ones over his time here; the thing was, they were not a method to de-stress. They didn't make him stress, either, they just didn't help.

  
  


That, and people were still bugging him. Honestly, it's not like surviving Dragon Fire was that odd, compared to the rest of his life.

  
  


And, of course, there was lunch itself. Muted mutterings were running around the room. Various people kept staring at him. And, worst of all, there was a six-foot gap on either side of him, with a similar seventeen-foot area on the other side of the table empty. And it was all due to the eight-inch-tall golden pain in Harry's ass that was, once more, sitting next to him. Apparently, the house-elves failed to recognize that his 'forgetting it' and leaving it behind wasn't accidental, so they (helpful little buggers that they were) saw to it that it ended up right back next to him, over and over again.

  
  


By the time lunch ended, Harry had had enough. He stood up, snatched the egg, and stormed over to Cedric Diggory at the Hufflepuff table. "Here, take this. Please. I don't want it, I don't need it, and, if I had my way, I wouldn't even be entered into this dumb contest. Good luck." That being said, and the egg being dumped, Harry stormed off to (shocker) more whispers.

  
  


He had almost made his way back to the Griff common room when the Weasley twins grabbed him, one to a side, and hauled him into a nearby abandoned classroom. Harry was winding up to dress them down when he noticed that they looked uncharacteristically serious.

  
  


"Harry, we need to talk to you." The one on the left said.

  
  


"It's about last night's prank, and the future this holds for us." The other continued, and with that they plunged into their tale, swapping who was talking every other sentence.

  
  


"As you know, we are rather the backbone of the project you had arranged; and, though it is against our wont, we wanted to really do this one right. Thanks to some clever slight of hand, we managed to earn a signature on a club form to allow us to found and run the club you asked us to. That is where the problem began. This morning, if it hadn't been for the sign-up sheets we had rigged, we would have forgotten all about it. That was bad, but odd things happen, and last night's party certainly put more than that out of a few minds. After we remembered, however, we went to the common room to post the sheets on the bulletin board so others could sign up for it. When we did so, both Ron and Hermione came up to ask us what it was for. When we mentioned the meeting last night, neither remembered it, and that got us concerned, so we went to talk to Luna about it. She… doesn't even remember your, or our, names. She had trouble remembering her own."

  
  


Harry stared at the two of them in shock as they gave each other a concerned look.

  
  


"Harry, something is very wrong here. No-one remembers the meeting, and everyone is back to thinking you cheated your way into the tournament."

  
  


  
  


A.N. And cut. Rec this go round is The Poker Game by Enterprise1701-d. Super harem, but that is just for fun, not actual harem. Is very funny, and very sweet. Please enjoy.


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